Chuck vs Pandora's Box
by Armadilloi
Summary: Read it. You just might like it.
1. Hope

_A/N: This is a one-shot for now, but I'm still ruminating over all this stuff. I quit watching Chuck after Sarah popped Mauser in the Xmas tree lot. Actually, my S/O, SWMNBN, started watching Dancing With the Stars and since we only have the one TV, well, you guys out there understand. If there's interest, I'll continue. If not consider this finito. All you blood-sucking, bottom-feeding lawyers out there be advised that I don't own Chuck. If I did, things would be different. For one thing, Chuck would not be such a co-dependent wuss, Casey would be more the mentor than menace and not every building in L.A. would be an abandoned warehouse. I've lived there. Every other building is a liquor store._

_~Armor-Plated-Rat~_

_

* * *

_**Pandora unlocked the box and slightly lifted the lid but before she realized what had happened disease, despair, hunger, poverty, war, sickness, death, old age, greed, violence and a few more evil things flew out of the box. She quickly closed the box leaving one thing in, hope.**

**

* * *

**

BURBANK, CA

The Agent followed the little gray Nissan Sentra from the apartment where the driver picked up the Asset, then to the unassuming little Italian restaurant where they'd shared an intimate dinner and finally to her garden apartment. Not his. Hers. The Agent parked the Porsche where it wouldn't easily be seen but had a good view of the target area.

She assembled the sniper rifle robotically, taking each piece from it's foamed form in the small case on the passenger seat. snapped the stock into the receiver group, inserted the barrel and twisted it tight, screwed in the silencer and opted to forego the night sight. For a mere 50 yards with a target highlighted by lighted sconces on either side of the door, it would be more of a hindrance than a help. She loaded a single cartridge into the chamber and worked the bolt to seat the round.

She rolled down the window of her Porsche and braced herself against the door panel, established a good sight picture and moved the safety from 'safe' to 'fire'.

She had to stop the Asset from falling under the influence of a … she saw the moment had almost slipped past her.

Just as their lips were about to touch in a kiss that promised more intimate moments beyond the front door she pulled the trigger, caressed it actually, feeling the recoil against her shoulder, knowing she had hit her target.

The steel-jacketed 186-grain hollow point round struck just above the ear, slightly back from the temple. As it broke the skin and pierced the skull it began to deform, mushrooming to twice it's original size, generating enormous hydrostatic pressure and exiting 2 inches above the ear on the other side.

The Asset was sprayed with small bits of brain matter, flecks of blood and scalp still retaining its long strands of dark brown hair. But it didn't matter if he was shocked into immobility. He was safe. And now the Agent would go to him, take him somewhere safe and show him that she was the one…

"Walker…goddammit, Walker, respond." She jerked herself out of her daydream. Casey's voice still reverberated in her ear. "Yeah, Casey, what's your problem?"

"I take it Bartowski has rounded third base and is heading for home plate? Do you want the all-nighter or do you want me to maintain discrete surveillance? He'll probably be there until breakfast." She could hear the baiting tone in Casey's voice through the ear bud.

"You take it. My ass is numb from sitting. I'm heading back to the hotel. You got your box of tissues? Wouldn't want you to stain the upholstery." She could be just as big a bitch as he could be an ass.

Casey knew he'd gone a bit too far with that last remark. Walker had played her role perfectly up until recently. He knew from his surveillance that the rift between her and the Nerd had grown into a crevasse and that one Sarah Walker was not long for this assignment. He just wondered how long it would be before she 'fessed up to being compromised and requested reassignment. It would be the right thing to do career-wise. He didn't want to dwell on what it would do to her personally.

He grunted. Number 16 that meant 'Ok, I deserved that'. "I'll brief you in the morning. Have a good night."

She took one last wistful look in the direction of the apartment door. _It could be me he's going to make love to. It __**should**__ be me._

_

* * *

_She drove back to hotel, slowly for her. She was tense, keyed up and needed some release. If she'd been with Bryce, she knew just what form the release would take but since she wasn't, she'd just take her aggression out on a bag. She threw her workout clothes into a bag and locked it in her trunk. She headed south to a CIA training center. Maybe a good sparring match would put her back in focus.

She entered the nondescript building and stopped in the widow's trap, was challenged and passed then to another, even more confining room for a retina scan. The final door buzzed and she entered the lobby area.

From that point on it was just like any other L.A. health club or gym. Except this one had a firing range and a dojo, one-stop shopping for the denizens of the spy world.

She quickly changed into her workout clothes, locked her weapons in the locker and went in search of a tension-relieving sparring match.

There were several agents or agents-in-training sparring, doing katas or practicing falls and rolls. She did her stretching exercises aware of the blatant stares of some of the men. She'd select her partner from among them. Teach them a lesson in making assumptions.

One man, vaguely resembling her former partner, Bryce, approached her and asked if she'd like to spar or anything else, for that matter. His tone was smooth, self-assured as was his gaze. She hated being mentally disrobed by men. Now _HE_ would never do such a thing. _HE _was respectful, caring, and always the gentleman.

Oh, this is the one. "Spar 'for now', we'll see about 'anything else' later " she said sweetly. And proceeded to destroy his superiority complex and ensure that he would wear boxers for quite a while. As he lay gasping for breath, curled into a near-fetal position, she leaned down and said, "You're not good enough, you'll never be good enough. You're not _HIM_."

Feeling better, she returned to the locker room. Glancing over her shoulder she saw two of his friends helping Casanova to his feet. He still was not standing up straight and probably wouldn't for a few days. She laughed at the 'glare of death' he sent her way. She'd been around Morgan way too much.

A quick shower and she headed back to her hotel.

Back in the relative sanctity of her hotel room, she showered again, washed her hair and was in bed and asleep well before midnight.

* * *

The dream started about 30 minutes into her slumber. The usual dream with the usual outcome.

_They were on the pier, the countdown had reached zero and nothing happened. Nothing at all. The kiss to end her life with someone she loved had been a horrible mistake. If the bomb had exploded, it would have been worth it but it didn't. And now, the asset asked her the question she'd dreaded. And she'd given the official Company line, she had no feelings for him, he was just a job and the kiss was just a human reaction to the heat of the moment. Nothing more. Thank God for truth serum resistance training. Oh, yeah._

But a small voice way in the back of her mind said _"Foolish woman. You just threw away your one chance for True Love. Threw it away for what? A job? A career? The greater good? The greater good could give a shit less about you, HIM, the CIA or anything else that doesn't directly affect their lives in a tangible way. No, you threw it away for NOTHING!"_

The dream usually stopped at that point. Short, punchy dream. It was pretty much the same dream almost nightly with a few embellishments tonight and a few changes from other nights. But tonight she got both barrels.

" _I can't do this any more. I'm tired of the cover, the lies, not being able to have a real relationship. A real girlfriend. Nothing spectacular. I don't qualify for the supermodel anyhow. Anyone who sees us together wonders 'why is she with that loser? Must be a blind date or a pity date. Is it Tuesday already?'"_

"_I am a man. Not much of one according to Major Casey, but a man nonetheless. And you…one minute you're a glacial monolith and the next you're a hot volcano ready to erupt. I guess it depends on the audience, doesn't it. They taught you well in spy school, Agent Walker. You really had me believing…even after the Truth Serum, I still held on to a flimsy strand of hope. You've taken my freedom, my dreams and now you're trying to take away my hope."_

"_This isn't working. I'm done with it. Figure out a way to make Beckman and Graham understand. You're good at it. They'll believe you. Tell them I'm gay, I don't care. Not anymore. Make it happen, Agent Walker. I am breaking up for real with my cover girlfriend. How pathetic is that? "_

She woke up. Sat up. It had been so real. So final. She remembered the pier. The kiss. So intense. And so intimate. Her nipples had hardened immediately and she felt a sudden flash of heat and moistness at her center. That had been a kiss to stop time. To end time. And she knew that if he'd moved his hand to caress her breast, if he'd moved his thigh between hers that she would have climaxed right there. As it was, the kiss held her on the brink. A delicious suspension between wanting and having. It was incredible. And then it was gone.

And she had made the mistake of looking up into his eyes. She knew then, just as she did now, that he loved her, no, was _in_ love with her. And it frightened the Agent in her. Because love made you vulnerable, weak, unfocused and dependent and that was something no agent could afford in the spy world. Love created hostages, liabilities to be exploited by unforgiving enemies.

Again she thanked God for the truth serum resistance training because without it she would have been a babbling idiot going on and on about her love, lust, desire, and craving for one Charles Irving Bartowski and how she'd find a way to keep the CIA and NSA from finding out about an unsanctioned relationship between handler and asset somehow but just "Please kiss me again".

She had thrown away the gift presented to her by the Fates - her one true love, her soul mate. Dumped all its opportunities and possibilities into the dustbin marked "sacrificed for the greater good".

So she made it happen. Explained it to the best of her ability and so Chuck had his "freedom" to pursue a relationship outside the cover. She was just an agent protecting an asset. Nothing more. It's what she was expected to do… for the greater good.

Casey had understood. He didn't offer her a shoulder to cry on but he no longer was quite so cutting with his comments. Tonight had been an exception. And his remarks had cut through the scar tissue and opened the wound anew. And she bled new tears until at last she slept, dream-free.

* * *

**BURBANK, CA**

**1:00 am  
**

Chuck Bartowski slipped out of her apartment about 1am. The evening had gone better than he'd expected. There were a few periods of stilted or lapsed conversation, and those normally when she would make a comment about his "ex" girlfriend or the conversation strayed into 'what are your plans, Chuck?' realms. He knew she was already a successful businesswoman with a great future ahead of her. She had drive, ambition, goals, and all things he'd paid lip service to in the past but was now reconsidering.

They'd opened a bottle of wine and talked more about the future. Then another bottle of wine and some interesting gymnastic exercises on her couch. When she suggested they take the wine and conversation into the bedroom he knew it was time to take his leave. He wasn't ready for that yet.

He explained it as best he could, lamely, and she was charitable. She let him off the hook but promised him that it was only a temporary respite.

"Ok, Chuck, I am trying to be understanding, really, I am. It's hard to start over and maybe I'm pushing you a little too hard but damn, I can only be so patient and mooning over your lost love is not the way to start over. It just sustains the pain. Keeps it fresh. You said yourself she could not commit to anything. So why are you hanging around waiting for her to change her mind?"

And she'd kissed him goodnight after he insisted on taking a cab home. They'd both had too much to drink to drive.

That damned Bryce Larkin and his email. He should have deleted it. Absolutely nothing good had ever come out of his relationship with Bryce. He'd been kicked out of Stanford, lost his fiancé, been cuckolded by his former best friend. And then the slimy scumbag had sent him that damned email.

Well, ok, one good thing, however fleeting. He had met Sarah Walker, CIA agent extraordinaire, and had had a too-brief glimpse of how wonderful life could be with the right woman by his side. Indeed, she was his "Ms. Right" but now he would forever have to settle for "Ms. Right Now". Sarah Walker was simply unattainable. And she'd made it clear that there could never be, _would never be,_ anything between them.

Even after that she did her job. She was very good at it. The cover kisses, the cover holding hands, the cover cuddling for the benefit of Ellie and Devon, the cover lunches, those long and intense cover kisses when she deemed it appropriate and necessary for "their cover."

Yet he'd still clung to the last vestige of hope. She hadn't been able to take the shot when he'd been held by the enemy spy, a gun to his head, a pawn in the spy game of chip-chip-who's-got-the-chip. Bryce or Casey had taken the shot. Not her. He saw her hesitate; saw her fear and that gave him hope. Because it wasn't fear of mission failure, it was fear for him.

And then that spy prick Bryce let him in on a little secret. Chuck would get Sarah killed. Chuck would be the reason she died unnecessarily, before her time was through. Chuck was a liability now, an asset still, but a greater liability to Sarah Walker than he'd ever suspect because one day she would hesitate, pause, miss a step, ignore training for emotion, and she would be dead.

The last words were the most telling. "And you know what, Chuck? It'll be your fault. You will have killed Sarah Walker." And he'd punched him lightly in the arm, a macho goodbye, and left.

The next day he'd ended the cover relationship with Sarah Walker. He'd keep her safe no matter what the cost to him. So he had given his Hope to her. Hope for a long life, successful career, whatever she wanted. She would survive, continue on, and achieve the spy greatness she was so capable of, and anything else, for that matter.

Chuck Bartowski had finally realized the satisfaction of sacrifice for the greater good. So he was happy, in a way few would understand. Not even him.

John Casey had been privy to the conversation between Bryce and Chuck Bartowski and he'd had the same thoughts although his were about the Asset, not his partner, Sarah Walker.

Chuck Bartowski simply did not fit into the spy world. He would never be able to accept that people were _not_ basically good, that good triumphed over evil _only_ if good shot first or that the right things got done only if they didn't conflict with the mission. No. And he wouldn't be able to accept the contradictions that made a good agent. Nor should he. The Chuck Bartowskis of the world constituted the greater good even if individually they might have to be sacrificed if the need arose.

He toyed with the idea of offering him a ride but decided he didn't want to listen to a replay of the evening or the long and painful silence of his brooding. Nope. Let him take a cab. He could have stayed and been taken home the next morning but his damnable scruples got in the way.

Casey admired Chuck for some of his traits but would swear under oath that it was not true. So he fired up his beloved Crown Vic and headed into Burbank after Chuck's cab came and picked him up. He planned on setting the audios on the microphones in Chuck's room on record and he'd sort through the sleep talk, groans and snores of his asset the next morning.

"You mean he got home before 2am? I figured on an all-nighter at least."

"He didn't stay because he's still hung up on a certain blonde who has told him repeatedly in no uncertain terms that's there's no point, no future, no _hope_ of anything other than a cover relationship. Of course, he doesn't know you're lying through your pearly whites like I do. Sarah, he's so far gone, there's no turning back for him. He told her as much tonight. And she still wanted to screw his ears off but his damned sense of "Right" prevailed and he called a cab and left."

"And your former partner and boytoy continues to play with our guy's head. Bryce told Chuck that your feelings for him were going to get you killed. And the very next day he breaks up with you telling you he wants a 'real' relationship. Sarah, he could write the CIA manual on self-sacrifice and probably contribute to the section on deception. He threw away the hope for you two one day getting together for the certainty that _he_ wouldn't be the reason you died before your time."

"What? Why didn't you tell me? How do you know this?"

"I got the fountain bugged. So much happens in the damned courtyard. You want to talk to Chuck "privately", you go to the courtyard. Bryce, too. You both figure the fountain will mask the sound of your voices, but it doesn't, not with today's high tech bugs… And as for why, well, I guess I respect what he's doing. In his mind, he's made a sacrifice for the greater good, _your _greater good. And he's fine with that. I'm not, but he is."

"Casey?"

"Yeah, Walker?"

"If anything happens to Chuck I want your promise, your word of honor, that you won't stop me from killing that ratbastard Bryce Larkin!"

"Stop you? Hell, I'll help you. I kind of got attached to the Nerd. He'd make a helluva Republican. Duty, honor, country. A real Reagan man. Except for his girly scream and his…"


	2. True Love Crap Shoot

_A/N: Yes, I realize this is somewhat convoluted but so are my thought processes. Linear thinking is the domain of government employees, DMV workers and railroad engineers. To those who feel I'm being unfair to the RatBastard, tough. Unthinking fools ruin too many innocent lives. To me, Bryce was driving drunk and the intersect email to Chuck was his car. While it made for a damned fine TV show, it's too typical of real life. Sorry in advance to all you Brycephiles out there but since someone told me he died on the show I figure I got free rein to mess with him. After all, he is dead. So he shouldn't feel a thing. I promised _**dcedie**_ I wouldn't be too hard on him – but it's early yet._

_And I still don't own Chuck. If I did, things would be different. I do own any of the characters you don't recognize and you can feel free to borrow them provided you put them back when you're done with them. ~A-R-P~  
_

* * *

Previously:

_As it was, the kiss held her on the brink. A delicious suspension between wanting and having. It was incredible. And then it was gone. _

"_And you know what, Chuck? It'll be your fault. You will have killed Sarah Walker."_

_So he had given his Hope to her._

_

* * *

  
_

**He stopped loving her at 8:17PM PST**

Chuck avoided looking at Sarah if she could see him. When they were called to a briefing he didn't take his normal seat between his handlers, he either sat so that Casey was in the middle or stood behind the two agents. He didn't talk much to either of them but Casey was fine with that. In his opinion the guy just babbled too much and actually said damned little.

He stopped seeing Sarah on his breaks. He just didn't have much to say unless it was mission-related. The 'cover' had been their point in common and now it was gone. He missed her, even when she was right there in front of him, he still missed her. When he did look at her, he memorized every one of her features because it was only a matter of time until she requested reassignment and all he'd have left were memorized images.

There was no point in an Agent of her quality and ability babysitting a Nerd Asset. It was just a matter of time until she chafed at her constraints and went back to the spy world, probably partnered with Bryce. He suspected she missed Bryce more than she let on. Apparently he wasn't the only one pining for a lost love.

Casey could handle the job just fine. Hell, he'd offered to automate his surveillance system so Casey could trim his precious Bonsais or do whatever it was he did when he wasn't terrorizing customers or him.

**4:00PM PST**

"And so SigInt has tracked and deciphered message bursts to the pirates in Somalia, along the Gulf of Aden and also to the Sulu Straits. The messages originate from an area along the loading docks for containerized shipping on Treasure Island. A list of containers with high-value cargo and the ships carrying them are being transmitted nightly. Since the shipping schedules are published in the Journal of Commerce, it doesn't take a spy to read it. It does, however, take an accomplished group to locate high-value cargo and the ships carrying it. Your task is to conduct surveillance on the container area and see if Mr. Bartowski flashes on either cargo or personnel."

"Both the Coast Guard and US Customs Service will be in reserve awaiting your information. They will handle the detention or arrests. Your job is simply to locate and identify the people providing the information and inform the authorities."

"Use extreme caution. High-value cargoes mean higher ransom demands. There is a lot of money flowing and the factions providing the information will not take kindly to any disruptions. Deadly force is authorized. Beckman out."

* * *

"Well, Chuck, looks like it's Showtime for the Intersect! Walker, let's get geared up. We'll leave here about 6pm. No gunplay unless it can't be avoided. Chuck, you'll have to take a walk around with one of us while the other provides overhead cover. I don't like the turf but don't have much choice. We'll take the Suburban and as much firepower as we can. Never hurts to be prepared."

The potential of gunplay was like catnip to Casey. Chuck thought he looked younger and almost…yeah…happy when he was offered the opportunity to discharge a firearm, blow something up or, better yet, discharging his firearm while blowing something up that killed some body.

Sarah left to change clothes and select her weaponry from the armory. Casey signaled Chuck to stay put and he went back to talk to her.

"Ok, something's up with you. You didn't have any comments during the briefing and there are enough holes in the Op Order to drive through. You sure you're focused?"

She whirled on Casey. "Major Casey, if you have any problems with my performance either in the past or if you suspect any in the future, let's get it out and settled before we get into the shit." She was seething. How dare he question her professionalism. She'd been doing that enough lately herself.

"It's Chuck, isn't it? It's finally come to a head. This whole cover-no cover thing. Why don't you just confront him with the whole story, the Bryce thing, how you feel. You aren't doing him or yourself any favors. It's killing you and he's not exactly the picture of emotional health either."

She started to object. She had that furrow between her eyes meaning she was about to do some damage. His next words stopped her dead in her tracks.

"I can't do this alone, I need to know my partner has got my back. And you won't be there if you don't get this straightened out. I won't be able to trust you. And you won't be able to trust yourself, either. And worse, Chuck won't be able to depend on his _teammates._"

"Don't worry about me, Major Casey. After this op is in the bag, I'm requesting reassignment. I can't do this anymore."

He just stared at her, anger building behind stormy eyes. "Going to run back to a comfort zone you can handle? Going back to someone you _can _relate to, like Bryce? Figures. Go ahead, leave. I'll pick up whatever pieces are left. But _you_ _will_ tell Chuck. What you tell him is your business. You could try the truth if the spy in you has the guts."

He left her standing there in the armory. She didn't understand how it had all come to this point. She knew she sucked at relationships. She knew that this thing with Chuck was the Real Thing, not a mere physical 'relationship' as she had had with the RatBastard, but an intimate personal relationship, deeply committed to by Chuck.

The reason she had missed the 'holes you could drive through' was that her mind was trying to wrap itself around the need to finally tell Chuck how she felt and the need to preserve her identity as a CIA Agent. She was afraid that she would lose herself in any relationship with Chuck Bartowski. And that would mean she would be a liability, a hostage, a risk to his well-being and she couldn't have that and protect him.

She knew that protecting Chuck meant sometimes hurting him emotionally in the short run and she knew that it would make any relationship incredibly difficult with a high probability of failure. Still, she was prepared to risk it all but couldn't figure out how to counter the RatBastard's attack on Chuck's fear of being the cause of her death. She just couldn't come out and say, "Chuck, I won't die protecting you" with any assurance because she knew, in her innermost heart, that she would die to protect him. And that would damn him beyond redemption.

She had limited options in her mind. She couldn't stay and love him openly and without reservation as he deserved and still be his handler. She would be reassigned in a New York minute and forbidden to communicate with the asset so long as she was an Active Agent.

She wouldn't sneak around. Chuck deserved better than that. She was pretty sure Casey would be Ok with it as long as it didn't get in the way of mission success but the Bitch General would defecate a polygon of fecal matter and jerk Chuck underground and her to Diego Garcia before the flies landed.

Or she could leave, fulfill her contract obligation and hope she could escape an early demise by walking away from it all and find Chuck and see if he still felt the same way. She had 3 years remaining on her contract. She could stay here as long as possible tormenting Chuck or she could leave and take her chances on True Love finding a way. She was a realist, not a romantic. She knew the odds were incredibly against her ever being with Chuck, but in her mind it was the only way. There was no one else for her, not now, not ever.

So when Casey confronted her, she made her decision and announcement. She'd roll the dice and trust in the power of True Love.

* * *

"Chuck, you need some coveralls or fatigues. Can't go crawling around the docks in your BuyMore duds. I'll see what we have that'll fit you… come on. Won't take a moment." And he led Chuck to another area and started outfitting his charge. Chuck was wary of this new, user-friendly Casey. He wondered when the other shoe was going to drop on his head. Or when Casey was going to act on some future order and put a bullet in the back of his neck.

**7:17PM PST**

**Containerized Loading/Unloading Facility**

**Treasure Island, CA  
**

They pulled off the freeway onto Treasure Island. Chuck had always liked the majesty of the Treasure Island Bridge. When he was younger his dad had brought him down here once to watch them bring the Queen Mary into Long Beach Harbor. It was something he'd never forgotten. The bridge brought back those memories of happier times. He shivered. But it had been summer then. And February on the water was cold and damp. He was glad Casey had suggested the jacket. He would gladly put up with the weight in exchange for its warmth.

They passed through security, manned by US Navy Shore Police for this night in particular. No one knew who among the civilian staff might be working with the pirate cartel and so they'd used the excuse of an "exercise" to man the gates with trustworthy personnel.

It took another 15 minutes to locate the general area where the containers with the designated cargoes were located. Casey did not like the fact that overhead cranes ran the entire length of the wharf and would provide snipers and spotters a birds' eye view of the area – and of them.

It had been decided before they left that Casey would provide overhead cover from one of the cranes while Chuck and Sarah strolled among the containers, clipboards in hand, looking like official inspectors. It had been Chuck's idea.

"No one ever questions someone with a clipboard. They figure they belong. The clipboard is a great cover for skulking around looking for bad guys. We can always go up to a group and ask for location such and such and I'll be able to flash on any bad guys. Piece of cake."

Even Casey had been impressed. "Not bad, Bartowski. You're right no one questions he who wields the clipboard." That brought a smile to Sarah's face. She'd have to remember that for when… and she stopped. 'Yeah, for after you've left _HIM_' said that damned little voice in the back of her head.

"Ok, I'm going up… there" pointing to a crane, "and you two just look like you know what you're doing over there" pointing to a general area on the facility map they'd obtained. "Keep in touch. Be careful. And Chuck, don't do anything dumb, please? I have plans for the weekend." That brought a brief smile to Chuck's face but it quickly faded when he saw that Sarah had already turned and walked toward the target area.

It was getting to be that time of day when your perspective changed as eyes adapted to the coming night. The mercury vapor lights buzzed and threw shadows between the double and sometimes triple-stacked containers. They'd already scoped out several groups of workers hooking up or disconnecting the containers to cranes without any flashes. Not a word had been exchanged between the two. Sarah just pointed in the direction she wanted to go and Chuck followed. 'Here, puppy puppy' he thought unkindly.

**8:10PM PST**

**Containerized Loading/Unloading Facility**

**Treasure Island, CA  
**

They had just come to an intersection between concentrations of containers and Sarah had stopped to talk to Casey briefly on her cuff mike. Chuck turned around at some noise and flashed on two men coming out from between two rows of triple-stacked containers. Abu ibn Faud, connected to Al Queda and Kenzi Matalaki, an Indonesian national with connections to the International Piracy Monitoring Center in Singapore. So much for monitoring. He was _supplying_ them with information.

He turned and grabbed Sarah by the elbow and led her down one of the paths between the stacks. "I just flashed…" and filled her in on the identities and connections of the two men. She grunted and said, "stay here, I'll contact Casey and he can alert the Customs and Coast Guard. Pretend to be checking shipping containers against the manifests_. __**But. Stay. Here**_."

She stepped out into the corridor between the stacks and called Casey through her cuff mike. The signal was being blocked by a combination of the interference from the mercury vapor lights and the height of the container stacks. She'd have to find a more open space to reach him.

Meanwhile, Casey had lost sight of his teammates. He had oversight until they turned down a corridor that ran perpendicular to his line of sight. He tried contacting her on his walkie but the interference of the lights made it hard to know if he had made contact since he couldn't hear squat over the static. Frustrated, he fast roped down and headed for the last known position of his teammates on foot.

Chuck did as he was told. Sort of. He pulled a mini-maglight from his jacket pocket, lit it and started checking containers. He reached the end of the row and stepped out to locate Sarah. He turned to his right and saw Abu ibn Faud preparing to shoot Sarah in the back from a distance of less than 10 feet as she tried to contact Casey.

"Sarah, behind you!" Chuck shouted as he ran towards the gunman. He wasn't armed and had no idea in hell what he was going to do but doing nothing while the woman he loved was gunned down was not an option. Faud spun around and fired 3 shots hitting Chuck with all three. The first round stopped his forward motion. The second made him stand upright and the third round grazed his scalp, creating a nice straight 9mm furrow but knocked him back onto the asphalt, his head striking the asphalt with a sound like a cantaloupe makes when it falls onto the kitchen floor and splits open. Head wounds are notorious bleeders and this one was no exception.

Faud turned to shoot Sarah Walker but was shot 8 times before completing his turn. That was the magazine capacity of the .45 Caliber M1911 she wielded with deadly accuracy.

"Chuck! Oh my God, Chuck!" She ran to him, hugged him to her and began to sob her heart out uncaring that the other man was still out there and probably armed as well. She no longer cared.

It was 8:17PM PST He stopped loving her.

Casey heard the shots, a group of 3 followed by a rapid group of 8. Walker's cannon! As he ran toward the sound of the shots he almost bowled over a small man holding a pistol, cowering in the shadows of the container stacks. Casey shot him as he ran by. He'd clean up later, he told himself. He needed to check on his team.

Casey followed the sound of the sobbing. He turned a corner and saw Sarah Walker rocking the body of Chuck Bartowski, crooning nonsense syllables between sobs. Oh, shit. He took in the blood on her hands and the entire side of Chuck's head.

"Walker, are you hurt? Sarah?" She looked up at him and mumbled something about "I told him to stay there and I'd come back for him". Nothing made sense. Where was he hit? Where was blood coming from?

He changed freqs on his walkie to the Customs channel. "Agent down, sector 5D, Agent down."

**8:19PM PST He started loving her again.**

"OH SHIT! THAT HURT!" but what came out was o..sh…urt… so softly that at first she didn't hear him over her own voice. "Chuck, why didn't you listen to me? Why? I can't do this anymore. I can't love you and protect you at the same time. Why didn't you stay where it was safe? Look at you."

"Thaaaats jus' wond'ful, Sra, but cud you stop with the rockin? Mak..me..sic…an muh head…" He could hardly breathe. His chest felt like a bus had run over him. Shit, how could something so tiny hurt so damned much? And it felt like someone set fire to a narrow section of his head. And his vision was blurring and the side of his head really ached.

Major John Casey had a grin that split his face from ear to ear. And he began to laugh, leaning against a container for support. No one who had ever known or would ever know John Casey would believe that he could laugh like a normal human being. No one – ever.

"Walker, Chuck's wearing a vest. I made him wear a vest. I just had a feeling he'd do something heroically stupid if you got into trouble and by God I was right…" and he continued to laugh, bending over at the waist and finally dropping to his hands and knees, totally ignoring his teammates.

Sarah Walker's face lost all expression. Her eyes closed. She stopped rocking the Asset. She still held him tightly to her, her arms around him as if to release him was to lose him. Within her mind an internal battle was being waged over the fate of Charles Irving Bartowski and Sarah Walker as a couple.

'_I'm going to kill him for not listening to me. Then I'm going to hire a voodoo witch doctor and bring him back to life and kill him again. And then, just to teach him a lesson I'm going to leave him and go back to that RatBastard Bryce and have wild meaningless sex, why won't he listen to me?'_ That was from Very Angry Sarah the CIA Agent. Violence was her answer to any problem. When you're a hammer, every problem was a nail.

'_I'm going to quit this business. I'm going to kidnap the Asset and steal away to some deserted island and spend the rest of our days naked and screwing each other happily ever after.' _ That from Romantic Sarah who secretly read those trashy Harlequin novels Chuck had found in her nightstand and she said were left by the previous guest.

'_I'm going to talk to Beckman. Ask for a permanent assignment. I can't do this anymore. I am hopelessly compromised and I almost lost him. If Casey hadn't made him wear a vest he'd be gone and it would have been my fault.'_ This was from practical Sarah. And she always won these arguments.

* * *

**The Next Morning After-Action Briefing with General Beckman**

"Agent Walker, I have reviewed your request you emailed me last night. Are you absolutely sure this is what you want? This is not a temporary change. No going back. No opportunity to change your mind once it's instituted."

"Sarah, are you sure this is what you want?" Beckman looked at her over her glasses.

"Yes, ma'am. It's the only decision I could reach given the options available. It's what I want."

"Very well. Approved. Report to my office for debriefing and reassignment familiarization tomorrow at 9am. Beckman out."

Casey just stared at her. "You didn't think to discuss this with me, your partner? You didn't think to discuss it with Chuck?"

"My decision. My choice. My life and career. Chuck doesn't enter into it. I'm doing what you wanted, I…'"

"That's cold, Walker, even for a CIA agent." And he left her. He was thoroughly disgusted. What would he tell Bartowski? Once the kid was off the joy juice he'd notice his blonde handler was… missing. Damn her. Probably going back to that PrettyBoyToy Bryce Larkin. May they both have to endure the miseries of the _Gonaherpasyphylaids_ STD. It was the worst curse he could imagine. And right now he had a very fertile imagination.

**Two days later**

**Cedar-Sinai Medical Center**

"She's gone, Bartowski. We had a briefing with Beckman the morning after you were shot. She asked for reassignment. I'm getting another partner to break in and you're getting another handler. A woman again. So you might want to rethink the cover business. I don't know if this one will agree to your 'outside' affairs." Casey was worried about Chuck. The kid seemed too calm. He hadn't even asked where Walker was. Casey had to bring it up. He wasn't getting upset. He wasn't gnashing his teeth or rending his garments. What did they have him on anyways?

"When do I get out of here, Casey? That doctor you guys conjured up from inner-most circle of Hell won't say a word, won't discuss my case with me because it's FUCKING CLASSIFIED!"

Casey kind of smiled. Ok, maybe it was the bad burrito he had for lunch.

"A few days at most. You cracked that thick geek skull of yours when you hit the pavement. They don't want what shit you call brains leaking out all over L.A. and them getting sued. Or killed by the government. As for your case, I'm surprised the doctor even looked at you. Beckman had a private briefing with him and scared the crap out of him. So, changing the subject. What did you tell Ellie? I don't see flowers or a crying sister fussing over you. What's up with that?"

Casey couldn't believe he was having a normal conversation with Bartowski. Maybe the kid was getting to him. Maybe _he_ should ask for reassignment too. Before he was warped and voted [shudder] Democratic.

"I haven't talked to Ellie. I don't know if she even knows about it. I've been in La-La-land until this morning. She still thinks Sar… Walker will get back together with me. She adored Sarah. But that's too bad, Casey. You and I both know it's not going to happen. I thought she was Ms. Right, maybe so, but apparently I was just her Mr. Right Now. Something to amuse herself with while she marked time here in L.A. waiting for a better assignment."

Casey heard the reference to his former handler. And also the comment about Walker and "Mr. Right Now". Maybe he was growing up. A kid would not have done what he'd done on Treasure Island. He didn't know that many men who would.

"Well, your ass is covered at the BuyMore. Beckman had her trolls hack into Corporate and have you on special training. So you get 10 days off with pay. You should thank the General next time you talk to her."

"Casey, I've been thinking. Maybe you should show me how to use a weapon, y'know, the right way so I'm not such a liability for the next addition to the team. At least consider it. Oh, yeah, thanks for making me wear the vest. But man, a broken rib and I was wearing a vest. Must not have done its job well."

"Kiddo, I'll train you. But I warn you, you're not carrying a weapon without Beckman's Ok. As for the vest, it did its job. You got no holes in you even from a bullet fired from point blank range. That's what it's for. It's bullet proof, not fool proof."

They shared a laugh over that comment. Casey was definitely loosening up. Maybe things would be ok now with the new team member. May be not. Who knew? Who cared?

Casey could see that Chuck was getting tired. "Well, Bartowski, some of us have sales goals to achieve. I'll be by to take you home when you're released. Use the time wisely. Come up with a really good excuse to explain the new part in your hair to Ellie." And he left, chuckling over his own joke.

* * *

_A/N: I think I like this Casey better than the show's. No one could be that much of a prick in real life. They should have cast him as the Janitor in 'Scrubs'. The character of Sarah, at least through the Xmas show was plastic, nicely wrapped plastic, but still plastic. Her character needs some meat on her bones that can't be done in a one-hour show as one of my reviewers pointed out insightfully._

_Patience, Waffleman, patience. Never run when you can walk, never walk when you can sit, never sit when you can lie down, and never lie down unless you sleep. I learned the mantra as an intfantryman. Take heed, o' purveyor of corrugated pancakes._

~Armor-Plated-Rat~


	3. Love on the Rocks

_A/N: I still don't own Chuck. If I did, things would be different. If you recognize a character it belongs to them, if not, it's mine and you may borrow him/her if you promise to put them back where you found them._

_You Charans be patient. Or you can just wait until I post Chapter 121 for the syrupy mass of the coagulated residue of boiled sugar cane… bwahaha_

* * *

_Previously:_

_It was just a matter of time until she chafed at her constraints and went back to the spy world, probably partnered with Bryce._

"_Don't worry about me, Major Casey. After this op is in the bag, I'm requesting reassignment. I can't do this anymore."_

_He changed freqs on his walkie to the Customs channel. "Agent down, sector 5D, Agent down."_

"_Use the time wisely. Come up with a really good excuse to explain the new part in your hair to Ellie."_

* * *

**Casa Bartowski**

**2 days later**

"Nope, I have no idea. The cops say I was mugged and the mugger must have taken a shot at me and that's how I got the part, apparently." He had not made good use of his time coming up with an excuse for Ellie.

"And you don't remember a thing about it?" shouted Ellie from the kitchen. She had become very suspicious of Chuck's various bumps and bruises that were always explained away as "work-related".

"C'mon, Babe, you know that head injuries often present with short term memory loss. Chuck, you may never get those memories back, Bro. Don't sweat it. If they come back, fine. If not, no great loss, right?"

"But why did John Casey bring you home? Why didn't they call me from the hospital?"

"Well, the mugger took my wallet with my I.D. and I was in la-la-land and no one knew who I was. They weren't going to let me go until a fingerprint check came back but Casey was visiting a friend and saw me and here I am…" That sounded lame even to him.

They were sitting around the living room while Ellie got dinner ready.

"So, Chuck, Sarah Walker just picked up and left after you two broke up? Wow, that's sudden. You must have quite the effect on the ladies, Chuckster." Awesome had no idea the effect he'd had. Well, not much he could do about it. She'd made her decision and now he had to live with it. She'd have left anyway. She wasn't the 'staying around' type.

"She went back to D.C. Probably went back to her old job. And her old boyfriend. I don't think she was ever really over him. We were just a temporary thing to her. And she never really adapted to California life. Except for the freeways. She loved to push her Porsche on the freeways." They both laughed. They'd often talked about her apparent immunity to speeding tickets. Only Chuck knew about her CIA Get Out of Tickets Card. It had been their private joke.

John Casey listened to the family talk from his apartment. He was really proud of Bartowski. Six months ago he would have been weeping and wailing, mooning over his lost love. He was handling this pretty maturely. Casey was impressed. But that lame excuse of 'a mugger stole my I.D. and I had amnesia' needed work. But you could hear the pain in his voice when he had talked about her 'old boyfriend' and how they were only 'a temporary thing to her.' He was surprised that Devon let it drop. But he was glad he did. Chuck did not need that crap right now. Not for a while.

Casey had discreetly checked around with his contacts in D.C. Walker had shown up on time at Beckman's office, stayed a while and then went off to the Farm in Virginia for requalification, psych evaluation and briefing on her new assignment. But none of his contacts knew anything about her new posting.

The new handler was due in after orientation at Langley. Maybe they needed Walker to bring her up to speed on some of Chuck's more interesting quirks. He really hoped this one would work out and maybe be a friend to Bartowski and not a bitch in heat or a coldly superior type. Those Mainline Ivy League types made lousy handlers. And someone like Bartowski needed special handling. Simple as that.

**2 Weeks Later**

**Casey's Apartment**

Chuck and Casey handled two missions successfully. One had required Chuck to go solo and that freaked his handler out. "Chuck, you'll be on your own in there, I won't be able to get to you if it drops in the pot. You'll have to be very careful what you say and do with this bunch. They're some of the worst Fulcrum has to offer."

"Hey, it's get in, sweep the place for bad guys, I.D. same and get out, right? Piece of cake, Casey. We've done it a dozen times before."

"Yeah, Chuck, but you had Walker covering your ass. It's just you and your intersect this trip. So try to keep it tight and quick."

"Casey?"

"Yeah, Bartowski? Need a hug or something?"

"Casey, stay in the car." And he'd laughed hysterically all the way to the private club and then pulled off a perfect mission. Just like he said, a piece of cake.

The briefing that followed was one of the better ones.

"Major Casey, well done. You've identified 3 new Fulcrum section leaders and provided us with the faces to go with the names. Very well done. And the data chip was a font of information." Beckman was quite effusive with her praise.

"Um, General, I stayed in the car. Bartowski planned and executed the mission, ma'am. He's the one that got the I.D.s and the data chip from a laptop he found in the back office. Ballsy, ma'am, brass ones."

General Beckman stared out of the monitor. Her voice could have frozen Casey's coffee it was that cold. "Major Casey, you allowed Mr. Bartowski to enter a private club that was a front for Fulcrum and it's operatives _without backup or support_?

"Yes, ma'am. And everything went according to plan. He went in, flashed on staff and guests, wandered into the office area and looted their main computer."

"Mr. Bartowski, Chuck, explain yourself."

"Well, ma'am, private clubs are frequently fronts for more… salacious activities and require a great deal of physical maintenance. In this case, a plumber."

Diane Beckman smiled, then chuckled and finally laughed out loud. "Mr. Bartowski, are you aware of the role 'plumbers' played in the Watergate break-in?" And laughed again.

"Well done, Mr. Bartowski. Well done, indeed."

"_**Don't ever do anything like that again or you'll be instantly whisked in the middle of the night to a dank hole in the desert, clear?"**_

"Crystal, General."

"Major Casey, I see now why another Agent has to be present to curb your unbridled enthusiasm. If there is a repeat performance of a Bartowski solo mission you will be relieved of duty and be permanently assigned to monitoring cell phone traffic at the South Pole until you reach mandatory retirement age. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am, no Bartowski solo missions. Understood, ma'am."

"Beckman out."

"Well, Casey, that went well…"

"Ya think?"

* * *

**10 Days Later**

**Intersect Download**

**JPL, Pasadena, CA**

"You're absolutely sure that this trip to Pasadena is on the up and up? Beckman doesn't have a dank cellar she's going to stash me in, does she?"

"Bartowski, it's just for an intersect update. A refresher. You haven't had a download in months and the crap you're flashing on is either out of date or no longer important. Now, quit complaining and get in the car."

Ninety minutes later they pulled into the secure parking lot of the JPL. Casey flashed his NSA identification and they were admitted to an underground parking garage. They drove down four levels and Casey parked the car in an area clearly marked "No Parking". He turned off the car and turned to Chuck.

"Showtime, Bartowski." A klaxon horn blared directly above them and Chuck almost but not quite managed to suppress a girly shriek of surprise. Casey laughed and just shook his head. "Y'know, Bartowski, after all this time you'd think you'd develop a more manly startle reaction. Especially with all the experience you have." He snorted a laugh. Messing with Chuck was one of the unheralded perks of the job.

"Well, it wouldn't surprise me one bit if that was just a warning to any 'authorized personnel' to clear the area because a tank or something equally deadly was going to blast us to chunks of smoldering…"

The sudden lurch and drop of the car shut him up. To the casual observer it was obviously a large elevator platform.

"Cool, Casey. The government built a secret base deep underground right smack dab in the middle of the San Andreas Fault. Good planning."

"Shut up, Chuck. It's been through worse than an earthquake and it's still intact." Chuck didn't want to think what could be worse underground than an earthquake so he wisely just shut up.

The elevator terminated at another parking garage. This one was full of military vehicles including some from foreign countries. Chuck looked at Casey with a questioning look. Casey drove over and parked beside a big Russian MBT

"It's the NSA SoCal base. Where did you think those NSA SWAT-types came from? Dropped from heaven by angels? This is their base. C'mon, let's get the new download uploaded into your fleshy hard drive."

"Casey, please, no Nerd speak. Coming from you it's just so wrong. "

Casey just grunted.

The upload went flawlessly. Once again Chuck had the nagging sensation that he knew things he didn't. It was like this with every download recently. He never mentioned it because he doubted he could describe it adequately for either the techs or the medical staff to understand. So he just blew it off.

The drive back was equally uneventful until they got behind a pickup truck carrying a bunch of day laborers. Chuck flashed on 3 of the six and told Casey. They were all wanted for capital crimes in Mexico as well as suspected drug and gang activity in the L.A. basin area. Definitely bad dudes.

Casey got on his cell and they had the satisfaction of watching a CHP swarm of motorcycles and vehicles surround and stop the vehicle and take the men into custody. Beckman would be pleased. Mexican relations were a hot topic with the new administration.

"So, Bartowski, you ready for a change in status?"

"Um, Casey, if this is a prelude to easing me into the idea of being bunkerized, it is really not going to work. If I'm going to be sequestered in some government facility just tell me so I can make some plans, Ok? This 'in the bunker, maybe, maybe not' shit is wearing thin." Chuck had long ago reconciled himself to the possibility that one day Casey would just shoot him on Beckman's orders or he'd disappear into an underground "facility".

Casey glanced over at Bartowski. "You really are getting a bit paranoid there, Chuck. I meant a change in status for the Team. Jesus, you think after the stunts you've pulled and not been, as you say, 'bunkerized', that it would happen now, after a series of very successful ops? No way."

"Ok, then what do you mean a Team status change? Like uniforms, a coach, maybe a paycheck, um, vacations, better benefits, hell, _any _benefits, things like that?"

"Team Bartowski is now an NSA/CIA substation. There'll be upgrades to our equipment, our mission profiles will change and we'll have additional agents assigned to the team. Only one downer in the whole deal. We get a "Chief of Station". It's usually some old fart on his last contract cycle riding the gravy train to retirement. That could be a fly in the ointment since they are definitely not free thinkers."

"But look at the bright side, Casey. We'll have a lot more opportunities for ops and you won't have to worry about the South Pole gig." Chuck was happy for Casey, well, pleased at least. It seemed that lately they'd become friends, not buds, but not so much antagonism between them. A definite improvement over the old model CaseyGruntKiller 1.0; this model was more CaseyGruntKiller/mentor 1.01. Incredible.

"I also was briefed in on your new handler. A CIA agent named Carrie Webb; this is her first assignment in protection so she'll be a ball-busting-by-the-book agent. At first. But I'm sure you'll wear her down just like you did…Walker. Might take a while though." Casey knew he'd stepped in it. Figured there would be an outpouring of angst and beating-of-breast but again he was surprised.

"We'll see. Maybe she'll surprise us. Probably not, though. Not if Beckman approved her assignment. She probably has wings, horns, cloven hooves and a tail. But I think a little of the ChuckyCharm will wear her down."

They both laughed about that. And Chuck wondered aloud where she'd end up working as part of her cover.

"Um, well, Chuck, she's going to be a consultant with an office in a building not far from our apartment complex. I think they're waiting on a vacancy and then she'll move into our complex. Cheaper than a hotel and more convenient for planning and…"

"Keeping an eye on me, invading my privacy and that of my family, keeping an eye on me, listening to anything and everything at Casa Bartowski, oh, did I mention keeping an eye on me?

Casey laughed. Well, a Casey laugh. "Comes with the turf, Chuck."

"Yeah, well who watches the watchers?"

"I don't know. That question has never come up. Now you have me getting paranoid." He'd never really done a comprehensive sweep of his apartment. Not really. Well, one more thing for my To-Do list. Check for bugs. Damn, Bartowski.

"So, somewhere in NSA files is a picture of you naked with vegetables or something equally gross?" Chuck laughed and dodged Casey's feeble slap at his head. "Don't like it when the shoe's on the other foot, do ya?"

"Well, just don't ask that question of the new Chief. I doubt it will win you any laurels. Intersect or not, you're just another grunt to the paper pushers. I'd forgotten what a pain in the ass those desk jockeys can be. 'Fill out this requisition, complete this form, now wait until it goes through channels'. Arrrrgh, it's the primary reason I got into this gig. I hated the pencil-pushers."

* * *

**Burbank, CA John Casey's Apt 7PM**

"Damn you Bartowski. Your damned paranoia is contagious. I've swept the apartment and found bugs that weren't mine." Chuck was trying to look sympathetic but it was hard to maintain his composure. The last couple of times he'd been over he'd placed some bugs from Casey's own stock and waited for Nature to take its course. Revenge of the Nerd, indeed.

"So, Casey, were they domestic, like the CIA or NSA or foreign like MI6, Mossad or the GSP?"

"Laugh, Bartowski, but it means that the bunker might be more of an option than previously. It means someone's listened to us without me knowing."

Actually, he did know that the bugs were from his stock. He just decided to get some payback for the moment of paranoia he'd felt when he'd found the first one. He'd run the serial number and found it was assigned to him. Bartowski was slippery but he was the master.

"Ok, so I slipped a few of your own bugs around the apartment. How did it feel thinking that someone knew you sang show tunes in the shower?" He dodged another slap at his head.

"So when's the new handler going to get here? I assumed you called me for a meet and greet session. I thought she was coming today?"

"She's late. Not a good sign for an agent reporting in to an asset and his senior handler. Maybe she'll be a flake and we'll have to break in another replacement? Not for me to say."

**8PM**

"Casey, I got a non-cover thing with a girl I met on a trouble ticket in a bit. She's going to show me her new apartment… with a _Jacuzzi_. I'm going to take off. If she does show up, maybe you can just tell her what a nice guy I am, how I never cause any trouble and how I really value my privacy and…"

"Ok, I get the general idea. I don't like it that she's an hour late either. Traffic is one thing but she has my cell number. Not a good first impression at all."

**8:25PM**

Casey scanned the woman knocking at his door. Biometrics matched for Carrie Webb. He opened up the door with a growl. "Webb, you're late. The asset had a prior engagement and will be unavailable until sometime after mid-night. Well, don't just stand there, come in and get signed in."

Carrie Webb was 25 years old, 5'8" and perfectly proportioned. She'd often been told she resembled Angie Harmon but she had ice blue eyes whereas Harmon's were brown. She also did not appreciate being jerked around by the well-known John Casey. She'd been briefed by General Beckman's Chief of Staff and told that he was probably on his last assignment. Another burnout.

Casey was not impressed. Another Yuppie agent. From the way she'd looked at him, Casey figured she'd been told the 'burned-out agent' line by some pencil-necked geek in Beckman's office. He took her orders, had her enter her data chip and do a retinal scan.

"Why were you late and why didn't you call as required by protocol? The asset wasted valuable free time, of which he has precious little, cooling his heels waiting for you. Not a very good first impression, Agent Webb. And Chuck Bartowski's impression should be of paramount importance to you because if you don't measure up to _his _standards you might as well not unpack. He's that important."

She'd screwed up. She'd gotten lost and frustrated. She wasn't used to driving in L.A. traffic and was very upset and nervous. And it was dark. This was her first field assignment and she'd already pissed off the senior agent.

"Uh, well, I got lost and L.A. traffic is a bitch and a half to someone not used to it. I screwed up and didn't call. My fault. Totally. "

Casey shrugged his shoulder and allowed the minutest hint of a smile. 'Well, at least you didn't offer up a bunch of bullshit excuses. I guess you'll do. Of course, you're going to have to watch the excuses around Chuck." Yeah, otherwise he'd dream up a "what would be your wildest excuse if you were…" contest.

He brought her up to speed on operations, the status of the asset and general background. He briefly touched on the Walker situation and was surprised to find she'd talked a great deal with Sarah Walker. Casey did not ask for particulars figuring if it were his business she'd offer the information. She didn't so he figured it was need-to-know and he didn't have the need.

Tomorrow he would introduce her to the World of Chuck Bartowski, Intersect, nice guy and national treasure, but for right now he gave her a brief sitrep of the Walker/Bartowski thing and how it all led to her being here tonight.

**Castle**

**Burbank, CA**

**8:30AM**

Casey had called Chuck at 7am to advise him that they would be meeting with the new agent at 8:30 or so. It would be held at the Castle even though demolition had begun on the substructure. The new facility would be larger and have newer equipment than the Castle.

He pulled his NerdHerder into its designated spot and walked across the parking lot to the OrangeOrange. It just didn't seem the same without…her. Well, no big deal. It had been closed since she left. No one wanted to purchase a bogus franchise and the rent had been paid through the end of the year. Your tax dollars at work. It made accessing the Castle easier.

"Morning, Bartowski. Webb should be here in a few minutes provided she doesn't get lost or freak out in the traffic. That's why she was late reporting in last evening. She showed up about 8:30 and I logged her in and got her set up. I briefed her on you and your relationship with the last handler and…"

"Casey, that was totally uncalled for. My relationship with Agent Walker was never in conflict with the mission. She felt she was compromised and she requested reassignment. End of story, Major. Get me? End. Of. Story."

Sarah was off-limits. He didn't need the reminders or the occasional pitiful stare. He was over her, or trying to get over her. Each day he thought less about her. Each night he dreamed less frequently of her. Each day he loved her a little less. Or so he told himself. He was focused on finding someone else, Ms. Right Now, the way it should be.

"It was protocol to brief the replacement on the situation as it was and as it is. She has a right to know what she's facing. She has an obligation to have a maximum level of situational awareness. It's her job, Bartowski. Her. Job. Get it?"

"You know what I get, Major Casey? I get that you people are so emotionally constipated that the only thing that comes out of your mouth is crap. 'Situational awareness?' Did you tell her that I took 2 in the chest and one in the head for her? Did you tell her that she loved me so much that she left without an 'it's been real nice working with you'? Did you tell her that Walker thought more of her career than her admitted feelings for me? I _heard _what she said while she held me. And her damned duty to the greater good and her frikkin' career far outweighed the pathetic emotional needs of one pitiful loser in Burbank, California. I understand, Casey. I finally understand."

"Casey, tell Beckman to get a cell ready in that frikkin' bunker because I'm done with all of this. What's in my head will stay there. None of you get to use me any longer. I quit. You don't like it, fucking SHOOT ME!"

Chuck stormed up the stairs past a shocked young woman he didn't know but assumed was the new handler. He didn't care if she heard what was said or not. He meant what he said. Let them come for him. He'd take a few of the faceless bastards with him. He would not go down alone. He had passed the point of no return. Beckman could kiss his ass for all he cared.

He walked across the parking lot and entered the BuyMore through the front door and headed for Big Mike's office. He saw that he was filling his face with a Jelly Doughnut and took the opportunity to let Big Mike know that as of that very frikkin' instant he was no longer an employee. He threw his keys, swipe card and ID on the desk and left. He figured if the fat ass choked on his doughnut it was his fate.

He cleaned out his locker and headed home. It was a long walk and he would use it to plan what he'd do next.

* * *

Carrie Webb just looked at John Casey. Why in the world was he just standing there? Never in her 1 year and 3 months in the Agency (including 1 year of training) had she ever been addressed in such a manner or heard others do so.

John Casey looked at her and smiled. "Coffee's ready. By the way, that was Chuck Bartowski, your asset. Sorry he couldn't stick around and meet you properly but there'll be time for that later. I gave you the bare bones last night. Right now, let me tell you a story…"

After two hours of listening to John Casey's version of the Sarah & Chuck story and drinking coffee, Carrie Webb asked for a break and headed for the ladies room. Ok, the unisex Alley MacBeal single seater and sink room. The door was gone, a victim of demolition but she made the most of what she had. It was either that or embarrass herself doing something she knew she'd not done since she was two.

The story he'd told her was a mélange of science fiction, James Bond, and Romeo and Juliet. Incredible. Unbelievable, but true. She now had confirmation that Sarah Walker had not lied to her. And that John Casey had not lied either but did not have all the facts. She would try to remedy that as events unfolded.

She'd spent several days talking with Sarah Walker in the selection process. Walker had selected her own replacement, something unheard of in Agency circles. The candidate had to be brunette, single, above-average height, well proportioned and this must be their first assignment.

Of the original 10 candidates, she rejected one for an annoying laugh, another because she never laughed, a third because she thought video games and people who played them were immature and not worthy of her time. The fourth fell victim to a snap judgment that an asset did what he was told and very little else and had no say in any operations or planning. Numbers five, six and seven could not understand that the Central Intelligence Agency was not the final arbiter of the fate of the asset, that their own lives were forfeit if the choice was between them. Eight and nine were rejected for insufficient skills in weapons or hand-to-hand combat.

Carrie Webb had passed the initial screenings, handled the video game issues (she played them to relax and veg out), knew she didn't know much at all and would listen to any advice she could get, was terrified of being killed but even more of failing in her mission, and was an accomplished shot and had advanced training since grade school in various martial arts disciplines as a conditioning exercise to overcome juvenile asthma.

But she almost failed the emotional screening being conducted surreptitiously by other agents when she talked with Sarah Walker about her compromised situation with her asset. Sarah had told her everything, leaving nothing out. How she felt, what had happened, how she dealt with it, and all about Chuck Bartowski.

"You don't strike me as a fool, Agent Walker, but if you ask me, you are the world's biggest idiot. You just left him without a word? After all that happened? After a near-death confession, you left that man? What are you, nuts?" And she'd stood up and left the room, completely aware that she'd sealed her fate and was probably on her way to count Russian fishing trawlers off the coast of Murmansk in a rubber dinghy. She didn't care. Sarah Walker was an idiot for leaving the man she loved so intensely for a damned job.

That night Sarah Walker had come to her apartment after hours with a pizza and two bottles of wine. They talked with each other honestly until almost 4 in the morning. The next day, Carrie Webb received official confirmation of her appointment to Team Bartowski and of her pending transfer to the L.A. C.I.A. substation as a junior agent in charge of the protection detail of an intelligence asset named Charles Irving Bartowski.

* * *

While Carrie Webb was receiving news of her new assignment, Sarah Walker was boarding an Air Italia Flight out of Reagan International for her assignment as Commercial Attaché with the American Embassy in Rome, Italy.


	4. Hissy Fits and Rattlesnakes

_A/N: I don't own Chuck. If I did, things would be different._

**Previously:**

"_So, Bartowski, you ready for a change in status?"_

"_My relationship with Agent Walker was never in conflict with the mission."_

"_You don't strike me as a fool, Agent Walker, but if you ask me, you are the world's biggest idiot."_

**10:55AM BuyMore **

**Burbank, CA**

Casey strolled into the BuyMore and clocked in. He liked the afternoon shift. Guys on the way home would swing by and he frequently unloaded one of those Monster Meat Grills on an unsuspecting Yuppie family. He was leading the company in sales of that unit. Casey could reach the inner caveman of most customers. The ones who wanted red meat, cooked over fiery coals, sizzling juices of the recent kill splattering over the grill, marinated in its own richness… How they dealt with the little woman and her tofu and sprouts back home was not his problem.

He cringed. "Casey, John Casey". Big Mike was lumbering down the aisle towards him. "What's come over Bartowski? He gets shot in the head and suddenly he's a different man. And today, he comes into my office, throws down his keys and stuff and quits? You two car pool a lot, you live in the same apartment complex. I see you talking to him. What's going on? Should I alert Corporate Security? Could he go… postal?"

'Oh, crap' thought John Casey. He must have really been pissed to quit his job. As for going postal, he'd seen Chuck Bartowski go postal, not more than 3 hours ago. "Big Mike, I'll handle Bartowski. Kid's had a rough few months. Gets mugged and shot, can't remember crap, girlfriend leaves him high and dry. Cut him a break and just put him on vacation for a few days. I think you're right, I should talk to him. Corporate doesn't know what a good manager they have in Burbank. Excellent solution, Big Mike."

"See to it, John. And keep those sales up." Big Mike was happy. Soon all would be in balance again. He waddled back to his office. 'Must keep an eye on John Casey. Real management potential there.'

He went back to the Castle. Might as well drag the newbie along when he went to talk some sense into Bartowski. Hopefully he hadn't done anything lame like running. Beckman would have him in a hole so fast he'd think he'd stroked out. If he didn't get Chuck back in the game soon that hole was inevitable. The newbie would report back to Beckman and that would be all she wrote.

If he wasn't bunkerized, Casey figured he'd get one of those "it's for the greater good" briefings and be ordered to either kill Bartowski himself or arrange for an accident, one he wouldn't walk away from. He'd had some ideas in mind on that subject within 10 minutes of meeting Bartowski and he'd made copious notes those first months. Might be time to dig them out and filter out some of the more outrageous and painful ones.

**The Castle**

**11: 15AM**

"Hey, Webb, I'm going over to talk to Bartowski. I'd like you to come along. It'll be a good time to meet him and maybe his sister and her fiancé. You got your cover down pat?"

"There's nothing in my back story that covers meeting his family or being in his home. I'm supposed to be surveillance and support until we get an apartment here. Maybe you should do this solo?"

"Oh, no. You saw that little tantrum he threw. It's a wonder it took this long for him to snap. Constant pressure, handling two lives, constantly lying to his family, getting shot, blown up, saving peoples' lives, a lot of pressure. He's been ticking since Walker left, maybe before that, even. I think your presence may take some of the sting out of his reaction to us just showing up. He's a big one for privacy and space in his life, something he no longer has."

And it would give him an opportunity to take the measure of the newbie. He had to know if he could count on her or if he'd have to be wary of _his _side as well as the enemy's if they got the order. She hadn't been here long enough to form any kind of attachment but she was fresh out of training and therefore a huge unknown.

**Casa Bartowski**

**11:40AM**

John Casey swung by his apartment and accessed the "NerdFinder" as he'd nicknamed the GPS locator. Chuck's watch had a transponder. And it showed he was in his apartment. Probably in his room, sulking. Casey wasn't much of a feelings guy but he thought he knew what Bartowski was going through. The full impact of abandonment, a complete severing of emotional ties, almost like death.

Chuck Bartowski was grieving. Finally. All this time since she'd requested reassignment he'd kept up the façade, but he was withering away emotionally inside.

Casey didn't know for sure but he needed to find out. A mental breakdown would mean a special bunker with special treatment – or a bullet if it were more cost-effective. And he couldn't let that happen. He could handle grief, though. He'd been through enough to recognize a kindred spirit. Maybe that's why things had gotten so loose between them. He'd unconsciously recognized a "comrade" and formed a bond of sorts.

He walked Webb over to the apartment and knocked on the door. He was disappointed when Ellie Bartowski answered the door. He'd hoped she be at the hospital or asleep. "Hey, Casey, this is a surprise."

"Hey, Ellie. This is Carrie Webb and she's looking for an apartment in this complex and I ran into her and figured either you or Chuck might know of someone who's leaving soon so she could sublet maybe?? It sounded rushed and lame but would have to do.

"Hi, I'm Ellie Bartowski. John, Chuck's not here. He left a note saying he had a few days off and was probably going to just veg out on the beach and I'd see him whenever. Maybe he's over at Lou's? Don't know why, but he insists that she's the one. I'm babbling. Too little sleep. Anything else, John? I'd like to shower and nap until Devon gets home. As for your question, I think the Yablonskis up in 2-G are probably splitting up. We've all heard the arguments. Figure a week at the most. Unless she kills him first."

"That's ok. I'll just ask around myself. And they are definitely loud and should split before the rest of us move out for some peace and quiet. Thanks, Ellie, we'll be going."

"The GPS is in his room and he's not. Webb, ever seen the Pacific Ocean?"

**Santa Monica Pier**

**1:00PM**

Carrie Webb had never seen the Pacific Ocean, or any ocean for that matter. There wasn't much opportunity for a St. Louis girl from the wrong side of town to vacation among the beautiful people. Or travel.

She'd gone to the University of St. Louis originally planning on studying history when she'd gotten hooked on an elective in Psychology. She changed her major and graduated in 3 years. She found a Fellowship in Behavioral Psychology at Georgetown and had been heavily recruited by the FBI, always on the lookout for potential profilers.

But her advisor and primary professor had ties to the Agency and the interviewer had been very blunt with her. The CIA needed operatives willing to do unpleasant things in the name of the Greater Good. She put the caps on the letters. She took the bait and the rest was history.

Right now, though, she was wishing she'd taken a job at the Post Office. She'd had her perception of reality shattered by Sarah Walker. The woman was a cautionary tale that should be on the agenda at the Academy. The Greater Good lost its caps that night. Unpleasant things were one thing, sacrificing your entire emotional future, well, that was more than she was prepared to do. Dying was one thing. Living in a state of perpetual grieving was another. And Sarah Walker was clearly grieving.

_Son of a Bitch!_

She'd set up her replacement in the team to be her replacement in his life. She took all his likes, desires, wants, needs, and carefully screened and selected her replacement to fulfill that role in the life on one Chuck Bartowski. Sarah Walker had simply profiled Chuck Bartowski and selected his future mate.

If she'd realized this earlier instead of having an epiphany here on the beach she'd have turned down the assignment, taken whatever they'd offer next. She would not have touched this with a 10-foot pole. So she made up her mind to keep it totally professional, keeping the damned asset at a safe emotional distance. She had no desire to become someone else's cautionary tale. And no desire to be anything else in Charles Bartowski's life but his handler.

Casey had spotted Chuck immediately. He was sitting on 'their' spot. Where he and Walker had always shared quiet times and conversations. He'd come here before Sarah Walker had appeared in his life, broken cell phone in hand asking for assistance. Chuck had been so naïve back in the day. In some respects his loss of innocence was at the very core of the doubts John Casey was experiencing regarding his chosen profession. But for now there was a job to do. No matter how unsavory.

"Webb, just kick off your shoes and walk out there and sit down beside him. Introduce yourself. Be open and honest with him. He responds better to the truth than the crap we've been taught to tell our assets and marks. And one thing I want you to clearly understand, this is not a mark. He's our asset and our only reason for being. This is not a honey trap. He'd smell that coming a mile away. So just be honest and be yourself. Now move your ass and get out there. I'll meet the BOTH of you back at the car. Don't rush him. Don't push it."

She kicked off her heels, picked them up and started walking across the beach. The sand was surprisingly hot and she was sure she made an amusing sight for John Casey as she literally 'hot-footed' her way down toward the waterline. For the first time she realized that a short skirt and blouse were not exactly beach wear but it was too late to do much about it now.

Carrie walked over and stood beside Chuck Bartowski. He was wearing a pair of nasty cut-off shorts, a Guns 'n Roses t-shirt and was bare footed. A pair of huaraches sat on the sand beside him. She couldn't tell if he was awake, staring at water or what because of his wrap-around sunglasses. And he was listening to an iPod. Great.

She plopped down in the sand beside him. She dug out her sunglasses from the satchel she called a purse and gratefully cut the glare to a manageable level. It was beautiful here. Just enough breeze to keep the evaporation up and the body thinking it was cool. She dug around inside her "purse" and pulled out a scrunchie and forced her hair into an impromptu ponytail, high on her head. It was second nature to her and it kept the hot hair off her neck.

She reached over and pulled out the ear bud from his left ear. "Hi, I'm Carrie Webb and I'll be working with you – if you'll let me. This is my first assignment and I'm totally screwed already. I was late last night for our meeting, L.A. traffic has me totally freaked, and I got lost and then Casey started reading me the riot act and… I'm babbling. I know this is your time, Mr. Bartowski, and so I'll just make my intrusion into it as brief as possible. I'll just sit here and watch the ocean and take in all the sounds until maybe you get bored enough and we can go somewhere out of this sun and get something cold to drink. A beer or four? Anyways, I just wanted to introduce myself to you, Mr. Bartowski. Go back to the tunes and your thoughts," and she replaced the ear bud gently in his ear and sat back on her elbows enjoying the sun.

After a few minutes: "Chuck, not Mr. Bartowski. Chuck. Mr. Bartowski is my father and he's not around anymore."

She snapped her head around. He was still peering intently at the horizon, motionless like a scrawny Buddha, but he'd heard her. Had actually listened and that was a start. She looked at his profile; saw what Sarah Walker had seen that others so often missed. A strength of character and purpose, full lips best used in telling the truth, a strong chin and general mien of resolution. It reminded her for some ungodly reason of the 'Gadsden Flag' of the Early American Revolution. A coiled rattlesnake that said 'don't tread on me, I'm here and I'm warning you so back off or I'll be forced to attack with deadly force to defend myself'.

She knew she'd have to be very careful around him for a while. She'd heard the distinct sound of rattles when he spoke. The fact that he hadn't either totally ignored her or lashed out at her for invading his space was encouraging. So she sat and her exposed skin began to redden and then tighten up as she sunburned. She didn't know it was sunburn. She didn't feel it because of the deceptive breezes. She had no idea of how deadly the California sun could be.

After 90 minutes, he popped out his ear buds, turned off his iPod and turned to his new handler to ask if she was ready to go. Instead he just stopped.

"Holy shit, lady, you're burned to a crisp!" He dug into the sand and brought out two bottles of water he'd buried but never used. Still cold, too. He opened one and poured it directly over her head and neck, soaking her blouse. She started to stand but he put a firm hand on her shoulder indicating she should remain seated. The second bottle he poured over her head but mostly over her face and lips. She was going to be in mortal agony for a few days.

He gently removed her sunglasses. Yep, Rita Raccoon. He slipped them back on her and stood, offering her his hand.

"I'm really sorry I didn't think about your fair complexion and the afternoon sun and wind. It's a killer. And you've got quite the burn going for you. Let's get you back to the Castle. I'm sure there's something left in the aid kit that could save you pain later. I mean it's a CIA kit and I'm sure Agents get exposed to sun sometimes in situations … now I'm babbling. Sorry. Let's get you to your car."

"Casey drove. It's out there somewhere. I don't exactly know where he parked after he dropped me off." This said through lips beginning to swell.

Chuck pulled out his iPhone and called Casey. "Where're you parked? Webb's grilled agent out here, may require some ER time. She's fire truck red and it's starting to swell. Oh, crap!"

Carrie Webb was suddenly feeling the full effect of her sunburn and was very dizzy. She knew she was going to embarrass herself and faint or worse, puke and then faint. Either way she was going to end up face down in the sand. That was her last conscious thought for a while. She fainted.

Chuck grabbed at her, finally catching her in his arms. He hoisted her up to get a better carry and yelled into his phone "Casey, Agent down. My location." He remembered hearing Casey say that when he and… well, he remembered. He looked down at the Agent in his arms. 'Hmmm, she looks like some actress on TV but I don't remember the name.' Chuck ran out onto the parking lot with his handler in his arms just as Casey pulled up and opened the back door. "Lay her down here, numbnuts, and we'll head for the ER most rickey tic."

Casey thought to himself, 'Chuck's back. He never could resist the chance to help someone in distress. And she was clearly in distress, though not fatally.'

He was upset with himself. He should have been more aware of the situation and the players. Bartowski was practically immune to further tanning and Walker had always submerged herself in sun block SPF1925 when she'd had to do the beach scene. Situational awareness had crept up and bit him in the ass. And now poor Webb was going to suffer and suffer and then peel and peel… he almost smiled. What didn't kill you made you stronger.

* * *

Sarah Walker completed orientation for her new position at the Embassy. She'd already taken an apartment, one suitable for entertaining as befitted her new position. Her Attaché role was mere cover for her CIA activities. She was back in the field, back where she belonged. So why wasn't she happy? Bryce had emailed her through her hotmail address and wanted to meet her "for drinks and whatever" since he was currently working on locating a possible bio-weapons facility some place in Libya just across the Med, next door, relatively speaking.

It had been a long but interesting 3 months. She'd been too busy learning Italian, establishing her cover and getting into the feel for Embassy life to be distracted by her immediate past assignment. She worked long hours but the weekends and holidays (Italy has almost weekly holidays, mostly religious but the labor unions celebrate them and Italy grinds to a halt quite frequently) were the hardest since they offered her too many opportunities to think about what she'd left behind, dancing brown eyes and a smile that made her want to jump on a plane and fly home.

'Home is where the heart is" as the old adage reads. She'd left a large part of her heart and her soul behind.

She'd gone to a great deal of trouble obtaining permission to be on the replacement review team. She was surprised that she'd been appointed lead agent and felt the subtle direction from General Beckman, but there was nothing subtle about her agenda for replacing herself. Now she wondered if it had been a mistake. Her replacement was the exact opposite of Sarah Walker. Would opposites attract?

She had started to email him many times but good sense always prevailed. Her dice were still in the cup and she was a long way from her turn on the line. So instead, she responded to Bryce's email. She didn't want to walk around Rome alone. He was a known quantity. What could a weekend hurt?


	5. Crispy Critters, GStrings, Shower Games

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and insights.

_Beckman would have him in a hole so fast he'd think he'd stroked out._

_Chuck Bartowski was grieving. Finally._

_Sarah Walker had simply profiled Chuck Bartowski and selected his future mate._

_What didn't kill you made you stronger._

_He was a known quantity. What could a weekend hurt?_

_

* * *

_The ER was busy but Casey must have flashed his NSA credentials because suddenly they were the center of attention. A small gaggle of nurses and an attending that looked like he should be delivering Pizza instead of practicing medicine had descended upon Agent Carrie Webb. She'd been quickly examined, stripped to be sure there were no other injuries, draped in a hospital gown and had an IV drip started before Chuck could even be ushered out of the room. The medical staff was apparently all NSA-approved because a new nurse was turned away at the door when she attempted to enter on some errand or another.

"I feel terrible about this, Casey. I didn't think about her in the sun."

"Yeah, but it's not totally your fault. I share some blame and so does the crispy critter in there. No one told her to stay in the sun until you decided to go. And I should have realized she's not used to this sun. Equal blame all around." He couldn't believe he'd said that. All in all, being around Bartowski was like being around plutonium and he was fast fearing he'd gotten brain cancer from his exposure because he was becoming weak, and accommodating and [**gasp] **almost nice.

And if it was one thing John Casey could never accommodate, it was 'nice'. His mother wasn't nice. His father wasn't nice. He beat up kids on the playground because they were nice. And here he was… becoming… nice. It must be the water or something in the food. Maybe it was an environmental toxin… California was full of them. MBA sissies who were reared by the Summer of Love hippies. Oh, Jesu Cristi, it was probably too late for him.

"So, now that you quit the BuyMore what are you going to do for cash? Leach off your sister? Go on welfare?" He knew that would piss Chuck off and it made him feel better, not so…nice.

"I don't know. I just need a change. Maybe look for something at one of the computer places or a small start-up programming shop. Something will come along. If it doesn't, well, I got almost 7k saved and I got the 401k at the BuyMore. I won't starve for a year. I thought maybe I'd move in with you, Casey." The last was said with a small smile.

"No way. I like my space the way it is - uncluttered with excess things and people. I am the ultimate minimalist. I learned that from you." He shuddered. Bartowski 24/7. Images of knives, guns, a garrote, slow painful poisons, and flaying Bartowski over a bed of hot coals flew through his mind.

"Doesn't much matter anyway. I figure something will come up. Or I could always just enlist in the Army or something. Find my way in the world. You know, see exotic places, travel, meet new people and kill them. Something different. A change."

"Beckman would have you in Leavenworth in a heartbeat if you did enlist. I don't think that would work anyway, there are about 10,000 flags on your files. A recruiter would have to be nuts to pursue it. So maybe the small programmer shop is the answer. Or just ask Beckman for a paycheck and work with Carrie at her 'consulting' firm. You give people advice every day. You might as well get paid for it."

"Good idea. I'll talk to Ms. Webb when she's feeling a whole lot better. And after she'd done peeling and littering the planet with her skin chunks. Casey, she's going to look like a leprous lobster for a while."

They both snickered at the mental image that statement conjured up.

**2 Months Later  
Citadel Op Center  
CIA/NSA SubStation L.A.**

"No way, Bartowski. No frikkin' way are you going to infiltrate that office building. Those are Fulcrum agents in there, at least half a dozen if not more. The fact that you've discovered their new 'hive' is fine, but Webb and I will do any skulking around. I am not going to the South Pole just so you can get your rocks off playing Bry… James Bond."

"He's right, Chuck. It's not your place to go in harm's way. It's ours. We've got the training and know what to expect. You'd just probably either get in someone's way or worse, get hurt. Not acceptable options. Stay in the car, Chuck." Casey winced. That particular phrase said to Chuck Bartowski was like setting a match to tinder. Wait for it…1…2…

"Ok, Casey, I'll buy no solo, but she surely doesn't believe her own advertising. I mean training? Knowing what to expect? Who are you kidding, Carrie. I've got more experience in this than you do. A hell of a lot more successful ops, too. Don't give me that 'stay in the car, Chuck' crap. It won't fly anymore."

Casey sighed. Chuck was right. Webb was right. He was right. So, compromise. "Ok, Bartowski, what does the great Oz suggest?" The sarcasm would have suffocated everyone in L.A. County if it had been tangible. He would beat this nice infection if it killed him, her and Bartowski. Damn it, Sarah Walker, where are you when I need some backup? Oh, that's right, you're playing with the RatBastardBoyToy you made me promise to let you shoot.

"Our objective is their mainframe. Either destroy it or cripple it. No info in or out for a while, possibly a long while if we opt for destruction. We do that with either explosives or a virus. One requires we lug in a lot of bulky crap and probably arouse suspicion and get shot at a lot. The other, well, you can transmit a virus via an email and no one can see you carrying it either. But they have secure, dedicated fiber landlines from there to the carrier hub. No way we can tap those without special equipment. And going down into the damned sewer and finding the right conduit and then the right fiber link and then filament. Too time consuming and too obvious."

"Ok, so what's left?" Casey was getting pissy again. And a pissy Casey was an unpleasant Casey.

"We go back to the Citadel, assemble some of your favorite noisemakers and blow the hell out of the building. We breach the walls on the south side, enter into the corridors and make it to the computer room. There we do three things, plant a faulty charge to destroy the system, plant small charges to take out the workstations and collapse part of the roof and then upload a hijacker virus that will copy everything in their files, hump it out to NSA computers and they'll never know, at least for a while."

Casey was impressed. The plan was elegant in its simplicity and brute force except for one thing. No one but Chuck Bartowski knew how to upload the hijacker virus. Neither of them had the experience with the multitude of operating systems out there to learn in the time available. And he was under strict orders not to risk the intersect since the Delta, Kappa and Gamma versions of the new intersect were all worthless junk. It seems Chuck was unique and couldn't be risked.

Casey voiced his concerns. Not with the plan but the execution. He didn't see a way around dodging half a dozen Fulcrum agents in a 30,000 square foot office building. And Chuck could not be risked. Period.

It was Webb who had the brilliant idea of sending herself in as a singing telegram stripper with a few strategic wardrobe malfunctions arranged to attract and hold the attention of all the agents. "You know what you're doing, Webb?" asked Casey. "Sure. How do you think I worked my way through school?" and laughed at the shocked look on both men's faces.

"Prudes. I'm surrounded by prudes." Chuck blushed, Casey grumped but it's what they did.

**1 WEEK LATER  
FULCRUM HIVE**

Carrie Webb parked her beat-up Chevy S-10 in front of the glass windowed office. Getting out, she made sure she had all her gear. She left the keys in the ignition in case a quick-gettaway was required.

Her hair was done up in an austere bun and her outfit was a severe black business suit and a single strand of pearls as jewelry and the obligatory 4-inch spiked heels. She wore glasses and carried a large sample case like the airline pilots used for their Jeppesons.

She walked up to the reception counter and addressed the young man in the security uniform behind it. "I'd like to see Mr. Noah Wilson, please. Ask him if he could come out to the lobby. Mr. Lanier asked me to deliver something very personally to Mr. Wilson."

Casey had managed a tap on one of the lines going through the PBX system by jacking the E-block and got a hit on the security director, Noah Wilson and his boss, Marcus Lanier as well as the names of a couple of the operatives who worked inside. It had taken 3 days to get the names and Casey had been

The guard got on the phone and within just a few minutes Wilson and 4 of his flunkies came down the corridor and through the glass security door.

"You have something from Mr. Lanier for me?" He was suspicious of anything like this. His boss was not known for his generosity but he'd been the only operations center not taken down by the NSA and he got the credit for security. So maybe… he licked his lips in anticipation.

Carrie reached down into her case and took out a small Bose CD player. Soon the room was echoing to The Commodore's "She's a Brick House" at one of the higher volume settings. First she undid the bun and shook out her hair. Then she slowly unbuttoned the suit coat, dropped it to the floor and turned around coquettishly. Then she undid her skirt letting it drop to the floor. She stepped out of it and strutted over to Noah Wilson.

"Mr. Lanier thinks you've been working too hard and need to relax a bit. Can someone bring me a chair for Mr. Wilson?" At least three office chairs were rolled her way. She selected the armless one and put Mr. Lanier in it. The she turned around and walked back to her case and stopped and looked around as if she'd forgotten something.

She reached behind her and undid her bra letting it fall to the floor on her skirt. Her back was still turned away and the men were totally focused on her, waiting for her to turn around. She slipped her thumbs into her panty tops and pulled them down and kicked them off. Still with her back to the agents she started a slow grinding of her hips thinking 'damn it Casey, blow the damned charges already. I _really_ don't want to turn around in just a thong and pearls…'

Casey placed the breaching charges on the wall farthest away from the entrance and closest to where they assumed the computer to be. The building plans were old but with the limited square footage they were probably right in their assumptions. Moving back a safe distance, Casey detonated the charges.

Carrie whirled around just as the charges went off. Whether the men were more surprised by her attire (or lack of it) or the booming explosions that shook the entire building was a toss up. She started screaming "Earthquake" and scooped up her clothes, stuffed them into her case and ran for the door still screaming "Earthquake, get out of the building" at the top of her lungs. Confusion, uncertainty and the sight of her naked and delightful posterior running out the door delayed an immediate response. Those seconds were critical.

Carrie ran to her truck, threw her case in the truck bed and winced as her naked buns touched the sun-heated plastic seat. 'What I do for the greater good.' Starting the truck, she drove around to the back of the building marveling at the precision of the hole. She backed the truck right up to the hole and waited. It should only be another minute or so before her passengers would arrive and they could depart.

Chuck and Casey entered the back of the building and headed to the right to the computer area. The dust was thick but the goggles and masks they wore protected them from most of it. Casey led. He'd stop every few seconds and listen. He couldn't hear much except some distant shouting about earthquakes and then coughing as Fulcrum agents began to flow throughout the building to see what damage had been done. They didn't believe the earthquake story for one minute but it delayed them long enough for Webb to get out of the building, he hoped.

Casey turned a corner and ran straight into one of the enemy agents. The silenced MP-5 burst stopped any chance of an intruder alert being sounded. Casey wanted to hurry. Emergency response vehicles from the city would be there any minute. He didn't want to have to explain his presence since it would compromise the operation. He wanted that virus planted.

The next room was their target. Chuck ran in and placed the faulty satchel charge right where it would do the most damage if it had detonated. Casey did a quick scan and spotted his roof supports and workstation targets. They both worked efficiently with no talking and when the virus had been uploaded, Chuck signaled Casey and they left the way they'd come. The secondary explosion was kind of anti-climactic so Casey threw a few hand grenades into offices containing office equipment and conference areas. The point was to make it look like they'd missed the agents but still got through to their target.

Casey jumped in the back of the truck and Chuck got in the passenger side. Carrie popped the clutch and they screamed out of the parking area to the predesignated dumpsite for the truck. No loose ends. Casey was still making sure that they were not being pursued. Chuck looked over at Carrie and gasped.

"You're… naked!" And he started to take off his vest to get to the shirt to cover her with it. He had a hard time keeping his mind on the task. So beautiful, soft, and jiggly and… arggggh. The gentleman in Chuck lost briefly but charged back and overcame DirtyChuck. He took off the fatigue shirt and put it around her shoulders.

She looked at him and smiled sweetly. "Thanks, Chuck. Always the gentleman." He blushed and looked out the side window. It was going to be a long drive. And his dirty mind kept going back to those perfect…

"Hey, Webb, we got company I think. Better step on it." Casey yelled from the back. Chuck twisted around but couldn't identify which of the vehicles speeding down the road were in pursuit instead of merely en route to someplace.

Carrie diagnosed the problem and solved it. She took an abrupt right turn down a side street leading away from the drop site. She accelerated and the truck bounced over and around potholes. Twisting around Chuck noted two large vans had made the abrupt turn and were gaining on them.

"Casey, you'd better discourage them a bit." He reached down into his backpack and pulled out two grenades, flash bangs. He didn't want too much collateral damage to draw the attention of the police.

His mind fled back to an earlier conversation. "No, shit-for-brains, you're not taking any hand grenades. You'd just ending up hanging on to the grenade and throwing the pin at them. No. Put those away and get the hell out of my armory." So Chuck, ever respectful and obedient, filched two flashbangs.

Bullets rattled against the tailgate making Casey duck. Chuck dropped one flashbang, waited two seconds and dropped the next. The first exploded in front of the trailing van while the second had bounced around and landed directly front of the lead van. The driver slammed on his brakes in a futile attempt to avoid the grenade not knowing it was a relatively harmless (to a vehicle) flash-bang. The second van driver had been momentarily blinded and didn't see the stoplights on his companion or the power slide as the van turned sideways.

The second van slammed into the lead van that was almost sideways in the road from trying to miss the grenade. The impact knocked the van on its side, effectively blocking the road from further pursuit.

"Good driving, Carrie." Casey shouted. He took a cigar from his vest and tried to light but gave up. It was probably illegal to smoke a cigar outside in this yuppie state anyways. He really hated California. It's only saving grace was that it was the home to Saint Ronald, patron saint of all things military.

They made it to the dumpsite in less than 30 minutes. There was some confusion when Chuck jumped from the vehicle and told Casey to stay put. He retrieved Carrie's case and clothing and handed it to her through the window.

"What's up with that, Bartowski?" asked Casey.

"She's naked, Casey, as the day she was born…" stammered Chuck. Casey just laughed and Carrie shouted from the window "No, I'm not naked, Charles Bartowski, I still have a g-string on, see?" and shot the g-string like a rubber band into Chuck's astonished face.

**Citadel**

"Good work, team. The intel coming in from the hijacked computer is invaluable. We've been able to locate two additional hives, one in Portland and one in San Diego and we'll neutralize them before week's end. Excellent planning and execution. I take it Mr. Bartowski stayed in the car, Major Casey?" She already knew the answer. No one but the intersect had the skill to pull off the hijacking.

"No ma'am, he did not. He accompanied me into the facility and helped locate and set the charges and upload the hijacker. It was a mission requirement, General. We would have failed otherwise." He mentally packed his winter jammies for Antarctica.

"I agree with your assessment, Major Casey. Congratulations, Team, on a job well done. Beckman out."

Chuck let out the breath he'd been holding. He was certain that Casey was on his way to Little America for the rest of his career.

"Smooth move there, Casey. Glad the general saw things your way for a change."

"Listen, Chuck. She's a general. I'm a mere major. I do what the mission requires regardless of the cost. She knows that. It's the _**only**_ thing she respects. Never forget that. If we had failed, it would have been bye-bye Casey. Trust me, she'd do it in a heartbeat. And don't you ever, and I mean ever, take something out of my armory without me knowing about it. Got it, shit-for-brains?"

Carrie followed Chuck out of the briefing area. "Chuck, thanks for taking care of the clothing issue for me. I really didn't want to be seen by just anyone in my birthday suit. It was very kind and considerate and just what I've come to expect." And she leaned over, placed the palm of one hand on his cheek and the other on his shoulder and kissed him briefly on the lips, a soft promise of so much more.

She strolled into her office and closed the door. She had reports to file and wanted some alone-time to concentrate on them. The CIA wanted to know as much as possible about every little facet of the diamond that was Chuck Bartowski. She'd been compiling his psych evaluation for some time and had sent her initial impressions to the pshrinks at Langley. They wanted more, of course.

* * *

John Casey had seen the kiss. He wondered what her game was. Chuck and Jacuzzi-girl had basically called it quits and that was a good thing because he hated seeing a wrinkly prune named Bartowski waltzing around with that "I got laid" look on his face. Apparently the song was wrong. Love was not better, the second time around. Chuck didn't seem to be pursuing anything other than missions. Since Beckman ok'd setting up the consulting service he had a real income. And surprisingly, it was on one of his consulting engagements that he'd found the location of the Fulcrum Hive they'd just taken down. But he did little except work and missions. No social life. None at all. He'd basically cut himself off from family and friends.

"Hey, Chuck, I'm heading over to Ellie's. She's invited me to dinner with Devon. Want to surprise her and tag along?" Ellie Bartowski was a woman Casey could relate to. Strong, no BS, and boy could she cook.

"Nah, I'll just finish up this paperwork and head home. I have some analyses I need to get done before Monday for a client down in Long Beach. Thanks, but I'm good. Say hi for me though. I just have too much to do and too little time it seems. Oh, for the boredom of the BuyMore."

Chuck was done in about twenty minutes and went back to the armory and took out his weapon and cleaned it. Even though he hadn't fired it, he did it because John Casey told him he should. So he did. He was just reassembling the MP-5 when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him.

"Hey, Chuck, I'm about done and going home. Secure the Citadel before you leave, please. And thanks again for today. It was totally unexpected but much appreciated." She smiled that 1000-watt smile at him and turned and swayed her way to her office to pick up her things.

'_Swaying? What's with that?' _

_

* * *

_**Rome, Italy**

As she stood under the warm shower, she thought about the weekend. 'This was a colossal mistake. Bryce made assumptions. Dangerous assumptions. He thought he'd just slide back into the saddle and pick up right where things had been when he'd infiltrated Fulcrum to snatch the intersect. What is it about answering a Bryce Larkin email that hurt so many people.'

The shower door opened and closed quickly but the cool morning air had rushed in and chilled her. "I remember how you used to like it when I washed your hair. How it excited you. I've missed this, Sarah. I've missed _you_." His voice was behind her, his arms around her, holding her and caressing her breasts and mistaking the effects of the chill for arousal. Kissing her neck and planting a line of kisses up to her earlobe he whispered "come back to bed, Sarah, it's too early for this." And it was, but she did. She didn't know why but she did anyway. She was lonely. And if she couldn't be with Mr. Right, then she'd settle for Mr. Right Now.

But only this one time. Just this once. Once for old times' sake. She'd worry about guilt and forgiveness later. She was a spy after all and had been well trained in the art of separating mind from body, and no one who mattered would ever know.


	6. Who watches the watchers?

A/N: I don't own Chuck. If I did, things would be different. If you recognize a character, it's theirs, if not it's mine. You can borrow mine but put them back when you're finished playing with them.

* * *

"_You know what you're doing, Webb?" asked Casey. "Sure. How do you think I worked my way through school?" and laughed at the shocked look on both men's faces_.

_I really don't want to turn around in just a thong and p_earls…'

"_No, I'm not naked, Charles Bartowski, I still have a g-string on, see?"_

'_Swaying? What's with that?' _

… _and no one who mattered would ever know. _

**Citadel**

One of the least favorite tasks assigned to the Intersect was the review of the After-Action reports of agents worldwide. A daunting task. Boring. "Mr. Keng Liu Phap is having an affair with his secretary and is rumored to be impotent." Or the always exciting "And we estimate an additional 10,000 metric tons of coal will be required to maintain electricity in Bumfuck Province due to recent flooding."

Occasionally there were things Chuck would flash on. The leader of the Chechen rebels was reported to be negotiating with Al Queda to provide on-the-job training to fledgling terrorist cells operating out of Iraq and Afghanistan. He'd flashed on a string of known associates and reported the identities and locations of several new Afghan training bases and their cadre.

A deep cover agent in North Africa was requesting support from the Embassy in Rome where the Commercial Attaché was the senior CIA operative who had forwarded the request to Langley for review and approval. Routine. Boring. Until he scanned the signature of the Commercial Attaché. Then he flashed on the deep cover operation, its mission and personnel.

Sarah Walker was the Commercial Attache and Bryce Larkin was the senior agent on the North Africa team.

No surprise there. None at all. Well, he was surprised that it had taken this long to for them to find a way to get back together. And he was surprised by the sudden sense of grief and then a lightness almost like relief. Why he should feel relieved was beyond his understanding. Maybe it was because he no longer felt responsible for her well-being. She was with SuperSpy now and it fell to him to take care of her. He was done grieving for what could never be. Pandora's Box no longer held any vestige of Hope for Chuck Bartowski, and he was Ok with that.

**Saturday Morning 2AM**

**Chuck Bartowski's Apartment**

Chuck was having another one of those damned dreams about Sarah Walker. He'd been shot. She declared her love for him in no uncertain terms. She then looked at him sadly and said that True Love would find a way. She walked off into the darkness.

As dreams go, it was hardly memorable. It was more like a vague memory trying to reassert itself into his consciousness. But he always remembered Sarah Walker dreams. Even the ones where he died or she died or she went back with Bryce. He hated those ones especially. It seemed the most real of all of them even those that were replays of actual memories.

She was safe and happy in Rome. He had no illusions that she'd come back. None whatsoever. Not with SuperSpy back in the picture.

He'd grown a bit in the past 7 months, matured and established a way about him that clashed with who he'd been BSW, Before Sarah Walker. He still tended to group memories as BSW or ASW, After Sarah Walker.

He got up, hit the head and wandered into his kitchen. He was awake for the day. Since Walker left he found that if he was awakened by anything he could not go back to sleep. It didn't matter how tired he was. He could not go back to sleep. And it was aggravating.

He scrambled a couple of eggs, put jelly on toast and flipped on the tube to Fox. CNN was just too holier-than-thou for his tastes. And Fox had blonde talking heads. He found his eyes following blondes in crowds, in airports, looking for her to return. It was subconscious but it was real. And it was only when he realized how self-destructive it was that he make a conscious effort to stop doing it.

The Citadel was coming along. They'd been promised a Chief of Station for the past 5 months and there were always reasons why he didn't come. He died. His wife has a fatal disease and he's retiring. She had to have a hysterectomy. Casey was beginning to think it had all been a lie. Chuck knew better. He knew all about the plans for the Citadel. It was to be the West Coast version of FT Meade. It was true. He'd seen it on the Intersect. Not intentionally. One of the vagaries of the intersect was its inability to segregate adjacent but unrelated data. So there were always random bits of superfluous data accompanying any flash.

Chuck was bored and decided to just get dressed and head for work. Since it was Saturday he'd pretty well have the whole place to himself. Maybe he'd practice his live fire at the range. He was getting better but still lacked the deadly first shot that Casey said was paramount to staying alive. "Shoot first and kill first, Bartowski. Only way to stay alive". Or maybe he'd try and get one of the newly assigned agents (eight agents comprised the Citadel TOE now) to try and teach him some more hand-to-hand moves.

He logged into the Citadel. No watch officer. No need. Not on-line officially yet. Still construction to be completed that hadn't even begun.

He went to the armory and pulled his MP-5 then to the ammo point inside the vault and drew magazines. He logged the quantity and type he took. Got to keep the inventories straight for the damned pencil pushers.

There were two ranges in the Citadel. One had standard firing lanes with target berms. The other was modeled after the FBI's HRT facility, nicknamed Hogan's Alley. It contained two phases. The first was a series of targets depicting scenarios and Agent might face. A civilian with a gun, a civilian held by enemy, and so on. Chuck started there. Warm up.

He went to the control console and set the scenarios for standard speed and set the timer to initiate the target sequences. It was all automated.

He'd managed to hit all his targets but also managed to kill one civilian and injure another. The computer kept score. He did not pass phase one so phase two was locked out until he did.

The third run through he finally completed phase one without killing a friendly or being killed by either missing an enemy within so many seconds of exposure or not firing a lethal kill shot. He'd done better than expected but not well enough for the standard he'd set for himself. Rather than repeat the exercise he decided to move on to phase two.

Phase two required movement. The shooter had to walk down a "street" and engage targets appearing at random from within buildings, windows or from side streets and alleys. Chuck actually preferred this scenario. He seemed to do better when he didn't have to worry about popping some poor civilian. This was a scenario that assumed that all targets were hostile and required a higher kill ratio to successfully complete it. He had never completed it without "dying". It was really pissing him off.

John Casey was watching his asset go through the Alley. He'd been awakened by the chime that told him someone had entered the Citadel. He checked the log and saw it was Chuck – again. Damn, doesn't that kid ever sleep? He dressed quickly and drove down to the office and entered as Chuck had. He went up to the control room and fired up the monitors and watched his asset fail phase one twice before getting a marginally passing score. 'Phase two should be interesting. He's never completed it successfully or without being 'killed'.

But Chuck Bartowski was in the zone. For some reason, tonight he couldn't miss. He went through the course without a single miss and got a 91%, 21 pts more than required to pass. He had been in the zone. What was different? He'd have to think about it. He'd felt different. It had been a different experience. He'd known what was happening. He knew where he was and where his targets were. He fired without thinking, without aiming. He hit what he shot at. Every time. He just didn't score a 'kill' every time.

He went back to phase one and ran it again. He duplicated his mood, his thoughts, his attitude from the cycle before and again scored an impressive 93%. Again the 'kill shot' problems. Well, he was satisfied.

Casey just stared and shook his head at the monitor. Chuck was finally able to move from shooting to killing without thought or hesitation. It saddened the hard assed NSA agent that a nice kid like Chuck Bartowski was becoming a young John Casey. 'Sarah Walker, wherever you are, I hope you're proud of what you've done to Chuck Bartowski. You bitch. I hope you and Bryce get everything you deserve for what you've done to… my friend.'

* * *

**Citadel  
4 Months Later**

Pershing Holliday arrived one rainy fall morning. There had been no announcement, no warning, nothing to indicate that the Citadel would at last receive its Chief of Station.

From the very first words out of his mouth he had sealed his fate with Chuck Bartowski. This guy was a tool. He'd talk to Beckman if he had to although he'd been avoiding any and all conversations with the General except for mandatory briefings. She scared the shit out of him. He could see his death in her eyes.

"General Beckman tells me this is the most unique team in intelligence. Creative, resourceful, and successful. That may be. But I doubt it. A has-been NSA agent, a CIA agent who is still wet behind the ears. And upon my arrival here I received a personal briefing from General Beckman as to the existence of the intersect and the identity of the young man who possesses it."

"In my opinion, this civilian should be in an underground facility somewhere instead of walking the streets endangering this nation's security by possessing critical intelligence data apparently without any self control whatsoever. Incredible. Things will change. Effective immediately Mr. Bakowsky will be accompanied 24-7 by an armed agent."

"It's Bartowski, Mr. Holliday, Bartowski".

"Oh, fine. Bartowski. Either way you will have full-time armed guards accompanying you 24-7 effective immediately." His prissy tone, his very demeanor was offensive to the group. But they were government drones, taking the King's coin and going about the King's business. He could not expect any of them to voice any objection. Not even Casey. And certainly not Carrie Webb.

"No." Chuck was resolved. This would not be allowed to happen.

"As Chief of Station I am in command here. You will do as you're told and you should thank God I don't have the authority to have you in a secure facility where you can do no harm to this nation, young man."

Chuck flashed. "Pershing Holliday, 58, unmarried, no known children. Graduated from Brown University with degrees in Women's Studies and Lithuanian Literature. Last posting was in Iceland where he monitored the movements of the Russian Trawler Fleet. Prior to Iceland he was Cultural Attaché in Gabon but was declared persona non grata after being discovered in a sexual relationship with an unmarried indigenous teenager (15). From 2001 to 2006 he served as deputy Chief of Station in Vanuatu. There was no Chief of Station. He was the only intelligence officer attached to the embassy. From 1990 to 2001 served in Langley as liaison between CIA and DIA joint taskforce on agent retirement benefits programs. 1982-1990 CIA Logistics and Management – Procurements. 1980 to 1981, assigned to Mujahadin Armament Programs, medical evacuation due to unsupported diagnosis of stomach ulcers. "

"Ah, you must be the intersect." Chuck could hear the glee in his voice, his mind counting his money. Casey just looked at Bartowski, shaking his head. The kid just didn't know when to shut up and suck it up. Apparently nothing he'd tried to teach Chuck Bartowski made a difference. He still maintained his insufferably bad attitude about his independence.

"Oh, one more thing, Pershing, old son."

Pershing Holliday raised an eyebrow imperiously. "And what might that be?"

Cold as death itself a voice came from Chuck Bartowski's mouth: "Recruited by Fulcrum."

The shot startled Casey out of his shock at the revelation that their new Chief of Station was Fulcrum. He didn't doubt Bartowski's flashes. If he was Fulcrum then he got what he deserved. Pershing Holliday was lying on his back, mouth hanging open and a third eye burned into his forehead. The back wall of the conference room where the meeting was held would need repainting.

Carrie Webb started to say something several times. The agents who rushed into the room, weapons drawn, took in the tableau and wisely said nothing until the situation became clearer. A clean up team was already on its way.

Chuck turned to Casey and remarked, "24-7 was totally unacceptable, Casey, you know that. I need _some_ privacy." He put the .45 M1911 back under his shirt. Screw Beckman. If she was going to be so blasé in her staff selection she could just be as equally blasé about is choice of weapon.

**15 minutes later**

"Chuck, General Beckman is holding for a teleconference. She wants you in attendance." Carrie Webb was afraid of Chuck Bartowski. She had seen a nice guy devolve into a cold and calculating executioner.

These past months had been exciting and full of incredible new experiences and she was finding herself attracted more and more to him, and all the while he was distancing himself from everyone and everything.

He had become cold and distant. He was not the man Sarah Walker had described. Something had happened that carved the humanity out of him with a rusty spoon. He was always pleasant, polite and agreeable but very reserved. She knew he was shy around women from what Walker and Casey had both mentioned but she'd left many openings for him to talk with her, ask her out, anything except the cold professionalism he displayed.

"Be right there, Carrie. Thanks." Said Chuck without looking up from his monitor. The arrival and departure of the Chief of Station had put Chuck behind schedule. He hadn't finished the daily briefing yet.

"Chuck, I'd like to talk to you about some things. Think we could grab dinner or something? Coffee?"

"Sure. Just let me know when you want and I'll make myself available." Well, that was easy.

"Chuck, the General…"

"Yeah, coming, coming. Just keep your g-string on."

General Beckman was in rare form. Probably never seen before. Or even imagined.

"Mr. Bartowski, did you or did you not just summarily execute your new Chief of Station?" The words were cold and paced, like an indictment before a jury.

"Yes, General Beckman. I did. And I'm glad you did not extend him the courtesy of a full briefing prior to leaving Washington or we would have to shut down the entire operation and you'd finally fulfill what I'm sure has been a near-sexual fantasy of yours for some time, putting me in a bunker."

That got the old girl's attention.

"What are you talking about?"

"He didn't know about the intersect or my identity until you called him upon his arrival here and told him. Therefore, it is logical to assume that the Fulcrum recruiter was simply trying to get an asset infiltrated into a new facility here in L.A. He also wanted to put a guard on me 24-7 and that would have been totally unacceptable."

"How long has he been in Fulcrum's pocket? Do you know?"

"Unknown, General. But you sure can pick 'em. A hypochondriac benefits coordinator who gets assigned as assistant Chief of Station in Vanuatu, then goes to Gabon where he's thrown out for statutory rape and ends up counting fishing smacks of the coast of Iceland. You sent us a total loser. Why?"

"You needed a Chief of Station. I delegated the assignment to my Chief of Staff. He made the selection from the available candidates." Chuck rolled his eyes. This was getting ridiculous. Who watches the watchers? It was a legitimate question now.

"General, your CofS is probably Fulcrum's recruiter. I hope my identity has been compartmentalized. I'd hate to die because some overly-efficient pencil-necked geek with an ROTC commission wants to take care of a friend and make a little money on the side." The look on the General's face told Chuck he was walking on eggs, in a minefield.

"One last thing, General. You don't have to answer, of course, but I'd like you to at least think about it."

"Yes, Mr. Bartowski? What is your question?" He was definitely past the eggs and about to stroll through the minefields but couldn't care less about what the General thought. He remembered what Casey had told him about the quality of respect.

"Who watches the watchers, General, who watches the watchers? Bartowski out."

He looked at a bemused Casey. "I always wanted to do that."

* * *

"Well, Bartowski, let's seeing. You've had quite a day. You've pissed off the new Chief of Station, you've killed the new Chief of Station, you've accused the NSA Coifs of being a Fulcrum recruiter and you dressed down a 2-star general like she was a brand new recruit. Impressive." If Casey had been sitting beside him instead of across the table, the spit from his words would have soaked Chuck's face and shirt.

"Thanks, Casey, I owe it all to you." Casey did not think it was funny. He dreaded the phone call from the General ordering him to take Bartowski out or bring him to a bunker. The little asshole had really screwed the pooch this time.

"Bartowski, I think you need some time off, 8 hours uninterrupted sleep, get laid, do something constructive with your life instead of gunning down poor defenseless targets on the Alley and pissing off the one woman on this planet who is immune to your puppy dog eyes, the one woman who can put you away forever."

"I didn't piss her off, Casey. That's just her act. I made her think, Casey, and she knows she won't like what she finally figures out. That's all. Besides, the General and I respect each other. We both want the same things ultimately and she's quite ready to exchange the occasional instance of collateral damage for mission success. You were absolutely right in your assessment, Casey, the woman will allow almost any outrage as long as the mission is accomplished."

The tone and logic he was hearing from Chuck rattled Casey's cage. Cold. Emotionless. Almost like he was becoming the Intersect in flesh and bone. It gave Casey a chill when he looked into the kid's eyes anymore and saw the darkness. Congratulations, Larkin and Walker. You've dehumanized one of the finest examples of the greater good. One less citizen to protect. One more operative in the ranks. It was a crying shame and he had had a part in it.

"Chuck, go see Ellie and Devon. The wedding's coming up and she's got a To-Do list for you as long as your arm. Take Webb and introduce her to your sister. You guys are supposed to be business partners, so it's an excellent opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. I think Carrie and Ellie will hit it off. She's still comfortable around civilians, hasn't been hardened or developed her cover shell like… well, like others in this business."

"That's not a bad idea, Casey. I'll talk to Webb and see if she's agreeable. I don't want to foist my family off on her unless she's ok with it. You know how Ellie can be. I don't want her thinking there's anything going on between us, though. Strictly business. It'll make things simpler to explain when she moves on."

* * *

**Rome**

Sarah Walker stepped out of the shower and prepared for her dinner date with a Milanese industrialist's son. The old man had been a supporter of the Red Brigade faction back in the '70s and '80s and his son was known to have had dealings with the PLO and their successors on the West Bank, Hamas and Al Fatah.

Bryce's investigations revealed money transfers from Milan to Tripoli and he'd traced that money to the bio-weapons developers. They'd discussed the mission and agreed that Walker get close to him, sleep with him, develop a relationship and find out all they could about the money source.

Her assignment was to determine the degree of involvement and whether or not Daddy's wealth was being redistributed into terrorist coffers.

She didn't look forward to tonight's engagement. She never liked sleeping with the mark. Not unless she could kill him afterwards. It was her decision to initiate physical intimacy with the mark, not her instructions, but Bryce was right, it would make things smoother and constrain the time line on the funding of bio-weapons. She was given a lot of latitude in that respect. She could be trusted to do the right thing at the right time for the right reasons.

She'd proven that in Los Angeles, proven her commitment to her Agency and her career. The Agency hierarchy had been reluctant to release her from her California assignment but she had convinced them that it was in the long-term best interests of the Agency to replace her with a more malleable substitute.

Sarah Walker, Commercial Attaché of the American Embassy in Rome waited patiently for her dinner date in the lobby of her apartment building. Only 20 more months remained on her contract with the Central Intelligence Agency.

She diverted her mind from the upcoming mission to the upcoming weekend. Assuming they were successful, she and Bryce were going to spend the weekend touring the Mount Vesuvius area. She'd found a villa to rent for the weekend. She loved the weekends in Italy.

She knew this thing with Bryce needed to end. And she needed some news about Chuck. She needed to know he was alright, if her ploy to replace herself with an exact opposite would keep him centered and prevent him from moving on until her contract was up and she was free. She couldn't tell him that, couldn't have told Casey that and she was certain Beckman and the new CIA Director were unaware of her intentions. Beckman would never have approved Rome if she knew that Sarah had no long-term plans for the CIA. She'd have sent her directly to Bryce instead of allowing him to find her on his own. Such was her way.

She'd emailed Casey a couple of times hinting around that she was curious about how the old team was doing, whether Ellie had gotten married yet and if not, did he have suggestions for a wedding present? Ok, the wedding present thing was so not Casey but she had figured he'd have at least sent back some snarky response just to harass her. But he never responded. She was tempted to email Chuck but wanted to stay on mission with her plan. The memories of the past months would fade into blurred history once she got back home. She still had Chuck's Hope.


	7. Snake Eyes!

A/N: **Please make sure you read the notes at the end of this chapter.** _I don't own Chuck. If I did, things would definitely be different. If you see a character you recognize, it's theirs, if not, it's mine. You may borrow mine if you promise to put them back when you're done playing with them. ~A-P-R~__

* * *

Pandora's Box no longer held any vestige of Hope._

_Chuck Bartowski was in the zone_

_Something had happened that carved the humanity out of him with a rusty spoon_

_She'd found a villa to rent for the weekend. She loved the weekends in Italy.  


* * *

_**Citadel**  
**Office of Agent Carrie Webb**

"…and I thought since we're business partners on the books, it would be a great opportunity to introduce you to my sister and her fiancé. No big deal if you have other plans or anything. I just figured it would be good for the cover. And I've been avoiding the "Wedding To-Do" meetings for a month now."

"Yeah, I'd like that. We can cover some of the things I wanted to talk with you about on the way over and back. So pick me up around 6:30 and we'll head on over. Works fine for me, Chuck. Do I need to wear anything special?"

"Nope. California casual. No g-strings though." He grinned his almost-natural smile. He had been teasing her occasionally about her 'g-string missile attack'. He figured Casey would be satisfied and climb off his soapbox now; one less thing to be nagged about.

He'd called his sister and asked about dropping by some evening. He said he wanted her to meet someone. She immediately launched into Romantic-Ellie mode and barraged him with questions he really didn't want to answer. He hated lying to his sister more than anything. The whole cover with his previous handler had created a strain on his relationship with his sister he hadn't been able to overcome. Maybe this would help bridge the rift between them.

For the first few months after she left on reassignment, every conversation with Ellie contained "Have you heard from Sarah?" and he finally stopped calling. He got tired of saying, "No, Ellie and I don't plan on hearing from her. She's made her choice. I just wasn't it." Even though he was sure his sister could hear the exasperation in his voice the last few times, she'd still asked, every time. He knew she meant well but gouging at a scabbed-over wound and tearing off the scab did not help it heal, at least not without a scar. She'd finally gouged one time too many.

"Dammit, Ellie, she's not going to call and she's not coming back. She made her damned choice and it wasn't me. Get that through your head. I wasn't the one. She was mine, but I wasn't hers. It's over. Please, please just let it go."

* * *

**En Route to Casa Bartowski  
Burbank, CA**

Chuck was still assimilating everything that had occurred over the past 30 minutes.

Carrie Webb was nervous. She's gone through pretty much everything in her wardrobe to get just the right ensemble. 'California Casual' was a dress code she was unfamiliar with. Her idea of casual was shorts, t-shirt (underwear optional) and flip-flops. She didn't think that's quite what Chuck had in mind though. Not to meet his sister and her fiancé. So she finally decided on slacks and a loose-fitting blouse and sandals. Underwear was definitely not optional.

He'd knocked on the apartment door right on time. He'd been shy and uncertain about how to act and that was a pleasant change from the Intersect at the Citadel. She'd invited him in because, as usual, she was running late. Her disregard of time was fast becoming a Citadel legend. Schedule a meeting with Webb at 9AM and plan on 9:15 as the starting time. She'd noticed after a while that when she was "late" some people had just arrived and finally figured out that the meeting "time" had been fudged on her memo or email.

Chuck looked around the apartment. Homey. Not California at all. Real pictures of real family on the counter, some with her and siblings or friends. Not like a spy's apartment at all. But then she'd never been a field asset, just his handler. Casey was the muscle.

When she came out of the bedroom he was holding up a picture of her family. He turned and smiled taking in her attire. "You look very… California. This your family?"

"Yeah, that's my Mom and Dad, and my icky sister and her twin brother. My folks had me early and Dad was still in school so I'm 7 years older than them. They made my dating years hell."

Chuck was amazed and said so. "You mean you just told me about your real family, not some cover clan to add realism and background? You _are_ a CIA for real, aren't you? My other handler, well, I never even knew her real name let alone if she had a family."

She blushed. "I was told from my initial interview with… my controlling agent that I had to be totally up-front and honest with you, and you alone. I'll never lie to you, Chuck. Never. Understand though, that this information is for you and you alone. I won't discuss any of this with Langley, FT Meade or even Casey. That's my brief. So don't shoot me any crap about spies and lies. I mean everything I said or will say to you. No lies. I hope you'll trust me enough someday to really talk to me about what's going on with you."

Chuck was stunned. No one in government service that he'd ever come in contact with since the Intersect had been so… forthright. He didn't know what to say.

Carried smiled a slow smile that included her eyes. She knew she'd surprised him. And she knew that if she ever lied to him it would only be to save his life. Not hers. Not Casey's. His.

"Well, you ready to go? I spent a while cleaning this dump to impress you. I'm normally not… neat. I tend to drop clothes where I take them off and put them in the hamper if and when I trip over them. I threw away the take-out and pizza boxes and even sprayed air freshener so you wouldn't think I lived above a landfill. Impressed?"

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" She swatted him playfully on the arm.

"Yeah, I'm ready to go but as for the rest of it… wow! I need to sit down. You drive. I'll navigate. Just don't think it's a race. I want to arrive alive."

He threw her his keys and followed her out the door. If any of her neighbors had been listening they'd have caught the tail end of Chuck's incredulous question "You're _sure_ you're a real, honest to God Agent of the Central Intelligence Agency?" and her answering "Yeah, now that you've told the entire building, I, Carrie Anne Webb, am an Agent of a government agency. You know Fulcrum has ears everywhere, Chuck. Smooth move, bowels."

**Casa Bartowski****  
Burbank, CA  
7:30PM**

They arrived alive. At least Chuck thought so. Carrie was not the best driver in heavy L.A. traffic. He wondered again if she was really an agent or just an analyst assigned to baby-sit him. Curious, he asked her about driving.

"Chuck, I had the usual CIA evasive driving class. I'll use those skills when necessary. Just like I did when we took out the Hive. Feel better now?"

Strangely enough, her answer just made her more believable. That, in itself, was _un_believable.

Chuck knocked at the door. He didn't feel comfortable just charging into an apartment he hadn't called home in nearly than six months.

Ellie answered and looked at him strangely. "Yes, can I help you?" She looked over at Carrie and smiled a famous Ellie smile but she looked back at Chuck with the question still on her lips.

"C'mon, Ellie, don't be a bitch about it. I know I've been absent from a lot of… events but Carrie will tell you I've been really busy setting up and working our business. We're moving and shaking now so like I said on the phone…" and got no further because he had no air in his lungs. His sister attacked with her famous EllieHug that guaranteed the recipient either bruised ribs or a brief period of unconsciousness.

"Well, you're here now. That's all that counts." She dragged Chuck into the apartment and turned him over to Devon. She reach out and hugged a startled Carrie Webb.

"I'm so glad to meet you. Chuck talks about you on those rare occasions when he does call." She shot a dirty look over her shoulder at her brother. "So, come in. Dinner's a bit late. This is my…" and so it went until after dinner. Over wine, Devon made the innocent remark, "So, Chuck, you heard from Sarah?"

The temperature in the room dropped 20 degrees.

The he asked Carrie, "Have you heard the story behind my almost-bro-in-law and Sarah? Does he talk about her to anyone? Can't get a word out of him on the subject."

Another 20 degrees. You could hang meat in their living room.

"Devon, we've been over this. She left. She never looked back. Obviously she left nothing behind she cared about. Period. End of story. End of subject, Ok?" asked Chuck. If looks could kill, Ellie would be looking for a new beau. Ellie just looked at Devon with a look that said, "You're not getting any for the next week, at least."

Carrie blanched. She'd seen the look on Chuck's face before. When he was reciting the assignment history of their almost and now definitely former Chief of Station. Well, this would be an interesting entry in the profile diary of the Intersect.

'I just hope he didn't bring a weapon' she thought. Then, 'the woman left a crater where his heart should be. Despite everything she said that night in my apartment, I'm seeing and hearing the truth. She was salving her conscience. Nothing more.'

Ellie brought up the wedding and the plans and asked Chuck if he had any recommendations or suggestions on a replacement bridesmaid. The look on his face answered her question. Carrie brought the conversation 180 degrees when she asked Ellie to tell her how she met Devon. Chuck shot her a look of pure gratitude. He hadn't said a word since his brief comments to Devon.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. Chuck promised to call and set up another dinner when time permitted. He shook Devon's hand but avoided the manly hug and just smiled. There was still friction there.

* * *

On the drive back to her apartment she decided to take the bull by the horns since she wasn't driving and could defend herself if physically attacked.

She opened up just as they pulled into her apartment building's parking garage.

"Chuck, I'm going to ask to be relieved. You need a handler who isn't terrified of her asset. I'm sorry; I'm just not Sarah Walker. I can't ignore my feelings. I can't put them in a box marked "Do Not Open" on a shelf in my closet.

He reached over and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Why are you afraid of me? I'd never, ever hurt you. Not deliberately."

"The way you looked when you shot the Chief was the same way you looked at Devon tonight. I worried that you brought a weapon. I worried that you were going to shoot him. You looked so cold, so detached and so… machine-like."

"I don't know which subjects are taboo, which Chuck Bartowski I'm talking with. You're like 2 different people. One is the nice guy who smiles and cares, who worried about my sunburn and got me my clothes after the Hive take-down, who asked me about my family and seems so… I don't know, decent."

"And then there's this other Chuck who has no emotions, no concerns, is single-minded and remorseless, who can kill a man in the blink of an eye. And there's no way I can tell them apart. I can't function without my grounding, my bearings, and when I'm around you I have no idea who you are. Am I making any sense at all?"

"Carrie Anne Webb, I promise to answer any question you ask me, truthfully and completely from this moment until you get too tired to ask. We can do it sitting here in this car or we can go to your apartment or we can go to the Citadel. Decide where and then start asking. This is a one-time offer. Take it or leave it."

"My apartment, now," she said, getting out of the car and displaying entirely too much leg but glad for the distraction.

* * *

After they entered the apartment, Carrie told Chuck to make himself at home while she got out of California and into something real.

Chuck just laughed and walked over to the display of pictures again. All of family and none of a boyfriend. Didn't seem right. She was an incredibly attractive young woman and Chuck figured she'd have to beat them off with a stick. 'Unless she was a … nope, don't go there, none of your business, Bartowski, don't ask, don't tell', his GoodChuck whispered.

"You seem fascinated that I have a family, Chuck. We all have family, even spies."

"Well, I know, but…" and the words died in his throat. Apparently "real" to Carrie Anne Webb meant, well, _real._

She'd washed off the makeup, pulled her hair back into a ponytail and slipped into cutoff jeans and a Steelers jersey that was way too big for her. She looked incredibly adorable. _Warning, Bartowski, Warning! _It didn't take a genius (and he was a certified genius) to realize that the agent was also a woman. Young, with a natural beauty that snuck up on you and the whacked you silly with that damned stick.

Walker had used her wiles on him, captured his heart, toyed with it and then moved on when glory and career advancement beckoned. He figured she'd aced Seduction School and used what she'd learned to devastating effect with one Charles Bartowski. Well, at least she hadn't let him hear her laugh while he bled out. He was not going to make that same mistake again. Especially not with Carrie.

She wasn't toying with him. She was _dealing_ with him, trying to find a way to do her job without sacrificing her humanity. And he respected that. She could just as easily have walked out of the bedroom naked and used sex to get compliance but she didn't. She'd either flunked 'Seduction for Purposes of Asset Control' or she was being sincere.

He sat down on a papsan chair, figuring he was as far away from her as the small living room allowed. Physical distance was probably important since she felt threatened by him. "Ok, it's your time, your dime, ask away, Agent Webb."

She wasn't stupid. She was a trained psychologist, practically a profiler, and she could tell from the physical distance and the use of her title that he was trying to improve her comfort level. And for that she was exceedingly grateful. Or he might be distancing himself from his inquisitor. Damn, behavioral psych was messing up her life.

"Chuck, before I was assigned to work with you I went through an intense interview and I almost blew it. I mentioned my controlling agent to you before. I didn't tell you who the agent was. I spent an entire evening in my apartment with her after I'd failed the most important segment of the interview process, without the titles or ranks, just two girls talking about a guy. Not the intersect. Not the asset. Just a guy."

That got his attention. He had a nagging suspicion where this was going. An intuition, really. No, a certainty.

"Your controlling agent was Sarah Walker, right? That's what this is all about. You were sent here to be her replacement. She left, you arrived. I don't see the point of your concerns, Agent Webb. Someone had to take her place. And that someone was you." He paused and looked at her for about two seconds before she continued.

"I guess the Sarah Walker who spent all night laughing and crying when she told me about the adventures you two had, what you shared and how it almost ended for you on Treasure Island was just playing me. She was that good. All she was doing was setting me up to be her replacement in your life."

"All I've heard from others since I got here was how you two had this almost mystical connection but what I hear from you, what I see when you have to talk about her, it's not mystical. You loved Sarah Walker, Agent Extraordinaire of the Central Intelligence Agency. She told me she left you because she couldn't do her job of protecting you because her feelings got in the way. She said she was right to leave."

"It's not so much that she left you, Chuck, it's how she left you. No warning, no discussion, no chance to change her mind. She left you, Chuck, rather than try to deal with it. She never made an attempt to compromise. She told me she thought she was a victim of Stockholm syndrome. She told me she loved you. Chuck, but people in love do not do what she did to you. They don't sacrifice you and your feelings for the frikkin' job, Chuck. They stay and they fight. She didn't."

She hadn't intended to bring up Sarah Walker and she was more than fairly certain he knew she was not Sarah Walker but she was teetering on the brink of tears and she didn't know why.

She was looking down at her lap and didn't see the look of shock on Chuck's face. An epiphany of sorts. If Sarah Walker had loved him she would have stayed and fought. She would have found a way for the SpyWorld to allow them their future together. She would have grabbed and held on to the Right Now with the same fierceness and determination she showed when fighting Fulcrum. He could feel the sense of dread intensifying in his chest like steel bands tightening around his heart. He waited a second or maybe it was an hour, he didn't know, before he spoke again.

"But you said you had questions that required answers and so far you've told me much more than you've asked. What's the point of this, Agent Webb? In the car you said you'd ask for reassignment if you couldn't get passed your fear."

He had softened his tone. It had been a bit strident and he could tell she was becoming ill at ease. He was regretting sitting so far from her now. He needed to establish a comfort zone, yes, but he also needed to be able to physically move into her zone if the situation called for it. He might be a Nerd but he was also a fairly decent judge of human nature. '_Sure ya are, after all, ya really had Sarah figured out, didn't ya?'_ muttered EvilChuck in the back of his mind.

"Am I that intimidating to you? I'm just a guy with a bunch of government secrets stuck in his head that got drafted into this whole Greater Good vs. Evil thing you spies got going. If anyone should be intimidated, it's me. I'm walking around knowing, yes, _knowing_, that someday my government will decide it's just too much trouble looking after me and put me in a shallow grave in the desert someplace and it will be you or Casey who does it. So if anyone is afraid of anyone, it should be me of you."

That last sentence was said in a very soft voice, almost as if he were talking to himself. She knew that she'd just been given a very real clue to the puzzle that was Chuck Bartowski. He lived under a Sword of Damocles and he knew that one of the people he had to trust with his life every day would one day betray that trust and take his life.

"Chuck, why did you kill Pershing Holliday? Why not let him rot in some cell deep underground? What made you believe you could be his judge, jury and executioner?"

"Sarah Walker. She made a True Believer out of me. If you talked with her at any length she should have mentioned Christmas and the Fulcrum Agent who was also a police officer. If not, I'm sure you can access the file through channels."

His tone told her that was the only answer she was going to get. She'd have to do what he said and access the files.

"Ok, I'll do that. Should be simple enough, but I reserve the right to bring this up if for some reason the files are either way above my pay grade or…misplaced, agreed?"

"That's reasonable. Although I'm sure Major Casey should be willing and able to confirm the events. It should be pretty distinct in his mind. Remind him it was the night he got his widdle piggy shot off."

* * *

**Rome, Italy**

"Bryce, no. I told you – it's over. I can't do this anymore." The irony that these were almost the same words that Chuck Bartowski spoke to her when he broke up with his "cover" girlfriend escaped her.

Bryce had shown up, unannounced and uninvited, at her Rome apartment. The Agency had been very free with her and she'd spent more time assisting Bryce's efforts in North Africa than she did on her own intel assignments in Italy and Sicily. He assumed it was 'business as usual' and made a habit of being in Rome for 'consultations' at least 2 weekends a month. At first it had been a welcome distraction but now it was becoming a real pain in the ass.

Sure, the sex was fantastic but the after-sex glow was dimming and the after-sex guilt was cumulative. Finally, finally, she just told him 'no'.

Of course, being the consummate gentleman, Bryce inquired as to the reason. Was it him? Had she found someone locally? Was she holding out for the ring?

Actually, the conversation went something like this:

Walker: Bryce, I told you –it's over. I can't do this anymore.

Larkin: Getting bored with me already? Or have you found something else to fill your weekends?

Walker: No, Bryce, not bored. Well, actually, you know what, I'm just not into recreational fucking, all right? It doesn't mean anything. You don't mean anything. At first it was great. I needed it. But Bryce honey, you're just not Mr. Right.

Larkin: So it's come down to this. It's always the same with you women. You want the ring, the house with the white picket fence, the SUV and the 2.5 kids and the dog. Well, people like you and me, Sarah, we don't get those things. We don't get married. We don't have children, hell, people like us don't have _futures._ We're all about the here and now, not some fantasy you've seen on TV or the movies. And you need me, Sarah, because I'm Mr. Right Now and that's all people like us get.

Walker: No, Bryce. You're wrong. You have to be wrong. True Love is out there and True Love will find a way. It has to, otherwise all this will have been for nothing.

And so Bryce Larkin picked up his weekender and headed out the door for the final time. As he walked down the steps to the courtyard he wondered if that Lufthansa stewardess was still living down in…

Sarah Walker sat on the edge of her bed and cried. She cried for the brown-eyed, curly-haired children she'd never have because in spite of her words, she knew Bryce Larkin was right. People like her only had Right Now because there was no future in what she did. She'd tossed the dice already without realizing it, and she'd rolled…

"_**SNAKE EYES!" **_screamed the little voice in the back of her head that had been so silent all these months while she had systematically sown the seeds of her own emotional destruction.

* * *

_A/N: I've stopped writing this chapter rather abruptly from the standpoint of the Chuck/Carrie conversation because, although they're not through, it was getting too difficult to find a break-point that would continue on naturally if there is another chapter. _

_Hey, all you Charans out there, don't you think "Carrie Bartowski" has a certain ring to it? Bwahahahaha…._

_Sorry, couldn't resist. _

_~Armor-Plated-Rat~_


	8. Revenge, Dreams and Kung Fu Cuddling

_A/N: I've toyed with the idea of abandoning this since Chapter 7 seemed a logical 'end' to it in some respects. Chuck has opportunities with Cassie and Sarah certainly has burned her bridges with the RatBastard and must now muddle through on her own, suddenly without a Daddy in her personal life to tell her what to do. Maybe she'll start to develop a character of her own now instead of relying on the CIA-supplied framework and mission flesh. As for Casey, well, he's still enjoying his insufferably bad attitude and reveling in the miseries of others. If you're reading this, then I guess you changed my mind MasterTomeWriter._

_I don't own Chuck. If I did, things would be different. If you want to play with my characters, make sure you put them back where you found them.  


* * *

_"_I'll never lie to you, Chuck. Never." _

'_the woman left a crater where his heart should be'._

"_Remind him it was the night he got his widdle piggy shot off."_

"_I'm Mr. Right Now and that's all people like us get."  


* * *

_**Somalia**

Suleiman Ibn Faud mourned his younger brother and sought all the information he could regarding his murderers. It had taken more than 6 months but his contacts in the United States had finally obtained CCTV footage of the Container Facility for that dreadful night.

His younger brother was more like a son to him than a brother. When he was 12 and his brother 4, their father had gone out to the fields one morning to tend their meager plot and watch over their grazing goats and simply never returned. His mother and sisters sickened and died from malnutrition and the diseases like cholera and typhus that ran rampant through the countryside.

In those days food had been a commodity more precious than gold or jewels. Famine had struck Somalia as a result of droughts, crop failures, and the vagaries of the Technicals who controlled Mogadishu and it's distribution of food donated by the West. Suleiman had joined one such group simply to feed him and his brother. Boy soldiers were not such a rarity in this part of Africa nor were orphans.

After the Americans and Europeans left Somalia to its own devices, his group of Technicals left Mogadishu and took up residence on the coast. Fishing boats were used to attack and loot passing ships. But one could not eat raw crude or machine parts and there was no distribution network to pass these pilferings on to the merchants and brokers for resale. The ways of the old ones were revived. They would extract tribute from passing ships and ransom those who either could not or would not pay. Soon piracy along the Horn of Africa and Gulf of Aden became a major source of money for the people. Money bought food, luxuries such as powerboats and new nets for the fishermen. It also brought out the religious ones from distant lands who traded on their shared faith to plot and plan and wage war.

At first the brothers wanted nothing to do with the Arabs and Europeans who came to them in the cause of Jihad. They were satisfied with their lot in life, had not killed a single captive, and in fact had not even harmed a single sailor despite all the attacks and takings. It was not their way to conduct commerce. Dead sailors could not be ransomed. But his brother listened, swept up in the religious fervor and ancient stirring of warrior blood.

He listened to the imams and the representatives of the various factions fighting against the encroachment of Western values and ways on their traditions and way of life. He had always resented the Euros and their slick ways, their money and their arrogant charity. He was ripe for the picking and pick him they did. He would wield a financial sword against the West, providing funds and information to the pirate community and siphoning off a tithe to the Jihadists. In return, they would provide him with information on rich cargos, shipping schedules and other things to enrich the pirates and further fund the coffers of Jihad.

That is how his brother came to be in the United States that fateful night. He was meeting with a representative of the Piracy NGO who was supposedly monitoring piracy but who, in fact, was a valuable source of cargo and shipping data. Why his brother was in such a place was a mystery to him. He was only supposed to meet with the Malaysian, exchange information and establish banking and payment arrangements. Not go skulking around a shipping terminal in the dark of night like some thief.

Suleiman ibn Faud was a simple man. He watched the tapes a hundred times if not more. He saw what he assumed was an American security guard talking on her radio. His brother approached from the rear, pistol in hand. He cringed. His brother was not a murderer and yet clearly he was about to murder the blonde woman until her associate came out from between the stacked containers and apparently shouted a warning.

His brother was surprised. He watched the look on Abu's face go from surprise to fear and finally rage. He shot the other American once in the chest but he still came, again in the chest and that stopped him. But then his brother shot the man again in the head, for no reason at all. That disturbed him. Abu was not a murderer; he was a pirate who held ships, cargo and seamen for ransom. He didn't murder them.

The woman turned and drew a pistol. His brother was turning to fire on her when she fired first, avenging her comrade. He could count the flashes, 7 in all. Each one struck his brother in rapid succession until he fell dead. The woman rushed to her comrade and he could see she was clearly in distress, holding him and rocking him. He was prepared to let it all go. The scale was in balance. A life for a life. Such was his way.

He watched as another man ran to the couple on the asphalt, hesitate, say something, and then begin laughing. What kind of people were these who laughed at the death of a comrade, who was so entertained and amused falling on all fours, laughing. Suleiman wished again for audio but the video would have to suffice.

As he had already decided, the scale was in balance until he saw that the man his brother had shot was still alive! Ambulances arrived and US Customs guards and medical people swarmed over the man, placing him on a wheeled cart and putting some fluid into his arm. He lived.

The scale was not balanced. He would have vengeance for the death of his brother. It did not matter that he was going to murder a woman in cold blood, nor did it matter that the woman's companion would probably have killed him. No, what mattered was the time-honored concept of justice. An eye for an eye. The scale must be balanced. _Imshallah_.

The Jihadists provided a solution. While it would satisfy his need for vengeance it would also satisfy the needs of the Jihadists. He listened, first in horror and then in growing fascination to the plans and machinations of these people from far lands. He knew what an embassy was, knew that it was a place where diplomats represented their county's interests in the host country. He knew that tradition protected these places for if the embassy of one country was attacked then that country would attack the host country in return. Simple balance.

But these Jihadists had plans to bring down a great country, to embarrass it and kill as many of its citizens as possible in a series of lightning attacks. His pirates would form the teams that would attack the embassies and plant the bombs and chemicals. They would be well paid for their efforts and casualties were expected to be minimal with the families of the dead provided for handsomely. The people in the embassies of the United States and their host countries would do the dying. He never stopped to think about why these people from foreign lands would require people from the Horn of Africa to do their fighting.

He was a simple man. It appealed to him.  


* * *

**A/N: This is a continuation of the conversation between Chuck Bartowski and Carrie Webb in her apartment.**

"Chuck, I make you a promise, here and now. If I ever hear of a termination order, I'll tell you. And if it's given to me, well, I guess it's one order I won't be following. The same goes for plans to put you in a secure facility. You didn't join this gang of thieves willingly, you got drafted. You deserve all the consideration in the world and from what I can tell; all you've gotten is a raft of shit and the sharp end of the stick. That's unfair. It's not right. And I won't be a party to it. You have my word."

Chuck took it all in. The body language the set of her jaws, the tears held just barely in check. She was either very good or very sincere. He hoped it was sincerity since he wanted to believe her, as he'd wanted nothing more in quite a while. He'd given up hope of any positive resolution and had resigned himself to a rather short life.

He tried to get out of the damned papasan chair but it was a struggle. She saw his attempts and laughed. "Chuck, you need to ease out of the chair, you can't throw yourself out of it. I know. It's where I curl up for naps on rainy afternoons when I'm not working."

Chuck had already figured out that the only way he was going to get out of this death trap was to crawl out backwards. He whipped around and was trying to draw up his knees but his damned legs were too long. He resumed a sitting position. "Well, get your fine fanny over here and pull me out of this upholstered pit. I can't get any leverage and I'm too tall to turn around."

Still laughing, she walked over and grabbed his extended hand and pulled, hard. She was a lot stronger than she looked. Chuck planted his feet and she pulled him into a standing position. When he regained his balance he was about 6 inches from her.

Still holding his hand, she pulled him into an embrace and buried her face against his chest, quietly laughing.

"Hey, that wasn't all that funny. Now I know how a turtle feels. That chair should carry a warning label."

She felt so good against him, laughing silently, her shoulders shaking, his chin rested on top of her head. He inhaled her unique scent and closed his eyes just enjoying the moment until he realized his shirt was damp and that she had passed from laughter to tears sometime in the last few moments.

He put both hands on her shoulders and tried to pull back so he could see her face but she just held fast and burrowed deeper into his embrace.

"Carrie, what's wrong? Don't cry. There's no reason to cry. I was just stuck in the damned chair." He started to rub soothing circles on her back, some paternal instinct telling him it was the thing to do. She just continued her silent crying. And now he was really concerned. What had he done? How could he fix it?

Chuck Bartowski could never handle a woman's tears. They were his kryptonite. They weakened any resolve he might have about any situation. Jill had used it effectively, Ellie had pulled the tear act in their younger days, but he couldn't ever remember Sarah Walker ever shedding a tear except during the BuyMore breakup in the Entertainment Center. And that was for the benefit of others.

Was Carrie Webb using the tear card to weaken him, beat down his defenses? If so, why? She'd been honest and he'd been brutally frank so there was no reason he could think of for her crying. And not knowing was worse than knowing. Much worse.

"C'mon, Carrie. Please. Tell me what's wrong. I'll fix it if I can. I don't want you to ask for reassignment. I want you to stay with me. I've never had anyone I could trust since this damned thing got sucked into my brain. I need you." He began rubbing the circles on her back again. Anything was better than just standing there like a dork.

She loosened her death grip on him but maintained the embrace enough that she could look up at him but not let him go. Cunning woman that she was, she knew he'd probably run as far from her as he could. She knew he was horribly uncomfortable with all this, even if she was incredibly comfortable. Well, except for the damned tears.

"Chuck, I don't want to go. I want to stay. I think I'm over the fear thing. I understand why you go "dark". It's when you're threatened, when people around you are threatened. I understand that now and I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid _for_ you. It's my job but it's more than that now. I want it to be more, Chuck. I'll take what I can get. Give me a chance. I'm just a rookie agent but I'm _your_ rookie agent."

Chuck knew she was stronger than she looked. She'd jerked him out of the chair without a problem and now she was crushing herself against him, not in a sexual way but to reaffirm her words with physical action. He was the one with the physical problem.

She wasn't wearing a bra. He had noticed it when he was rubbing circles on her back but thought nothing of it. Now, he could think of little but it. And her scent, like strawberries with just the hint of lime somewhere in there. He didn't know, he couldn't flash on a smell; he just knew that if he didn't put some distance between them…

She read his mind. She must have. She loosened her embrace, stood on tiptoes and kissed him. A repeat of the kiss in the Citadel but this one was more than a promise. "Stay with me tonight. We don't have to do anything. I mean we can if you want but… hell, I'm sorry. " She broke the embrace and stepped back a bit, still looking up at him. "I'm sorry; I've made you uncomfortable. I'm really sorry. Really, I am. I'm not trying the seduction thing on you, Chuck, really, I just don't want to be alone and I like the way you hold me. Makes me feel safe and warm and wanted and needed but I'll understand if you leave. Really. It's Ok. Really."

"You say 'really' entirely too often, you do know that, don't you?"

She laughed and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him again, softly, her tongue seeking entrance and finding it welcomed. She sighed and deepened the kiss.

"As much as I like this, Chuck, either we stop and you go home and I take a long, cold shower or you give me a break and carry me to the bedroom. I don't think I can walk right this minute. And I meant what I said, about not doing anything. You don't seem to be the kind of guy to screw on the first date."

"I'm not. Maybe by the third? But I don't want to go, either. Let's just see how the whole horizontal hugging thing goes for now. Then we'll talk about our plans for tomorrow night and …" his long ramble was interrupted by warm lips and a sigh.

"You know, you really do talk too much, Chuck Bartowski."

"Really?"

"Really."

**Citadel**

The next morning 8:30am

At 2am this morning he'd been awakened by a nightmare. A really bad one. Sarah Walker had been shot instead of him that night. And she hadn't been wearing a vest like he had been. The nightmarish part was that in the dream he didn't seem to care. He just turned around and walked off.

What really had awakened him was that in the worst of his nightmare he'd felt someone put their arms around him and whisper that it was all right and he was there with her and safe. Maybe that's why he didn't care about the dreaming Sarah Walker. Someone else cared. About him. And not because of the damned intersect, but about him.

Breaking an almost year-long habit he'd rolled over and kissed Carrie lightly on the lips, murmured "thanks, babe" and went back to sleep until 6am when he got up, showered and left. He showered alone but was certain that the munchkin lurking outside the door would have joined him in a heartbeat.

He kissed her soundly and left for his apartment to change clothes and go to the Citadel. He had to review the intel dailies and had a 10am appointment with a potential client. The CIA was pleased that BW Data Security turned a profit.

Chuck logged in and was on his way to the vault to retrieve the night's intel data for review when a visibly pissed-off Casey grabbed his upper arm and dragged him into the armory.

"Bartowski, I told you to go to dinner to see your sister and Devon and introduce Agent Webb into your cover. I did not tell you to sleep with Agent Webb. Have you learned absofuckinglutely nothing from your dealings with Sarah Walker?" Casey was pissed. Chuck knew that Casey would eventually find out he'd spent the night with Carrie but hadn't counted on the NSA Major finding out quite so soon. He really figured if Casey took a year or two that would be enough time.

"Actually, Casey, you told me to get laid. I didn't, but I could have, probably should have, but I have more respect for Carrie Webb right now than I do for Agents Walker and Larkin combined. Those two, by the way, have been shacking up weekends at her apartment in Rome for quite a while, doing the who tourist bit on weekends and running all over North Africa trying to find a bio-weapons lab. So, please, hold your damned lecture for the appropriate time and place. Now is not the time. I have slept with Agent Carrie Webb, yes, it's true. But sleeping is all we did. She's not that kind of girl, you arrogant prick."

Major John Casey turned a brilliant scarlet. The object of their discussion was standing right behind Bartowski. He couldn't see her and didn't know she was there. So that made Casey all the madder because he _was_ being an arrogant prick. And he'd been disrespectful to Agent Webb who was a fine partner. Two-time Anger Management Class failure Casey mumbled an apology to Chuck (really to Webb) and turned and stormed off to find something to kill. Anything would do. Maybe a bunch of sandal-wearing-granola-eating-kumbayuh-singing-tree-hugging-Code-pinkos.

Chuck turned to continue on his way to the vault and took one step and froze. Agent Carrie Anne Webb stood not 3 feet from him and unfathomable look on her face and her eyes were as big as saucers.

"Ah, let me guess, you heard that entire conversation between Casey and me, right?"

She just nodded her head, eyes still saucer-sized.

"The, ah, 'could have, probably should have' part, ah, ah, well, I, ooof!"

Carrie Anne Webb launched herself at Chuck Bartowski, landing with her slacks-covered thighs straddling his waist, her arms around his neck and her mouth firmly affixed to his.

She ended the kiss with a sigh, released her arms from around his neck and slid down the length of his body. "Chuck, I'll see you for lunch, Ok? And maybe dinner tonight?"

She had a plan. 'If last night was a first date, then lunch today would be a second and dinner tonight would be the third, _**YES, **_and back to my place for some more horizontal hugging and with any luck at all, some mambo lessons.'

She turned and walked down the corridor towards her office. Carrie was suddenly and keenly aware of the new agent, Jose Riviera, who had just transferred from Puerto Rico. She gave him a dazzling smile and asked if he knew whether most guys preferred waffles or pancakes for breakfast… and grinning when it dawned on her that she'd get no answer from him.

* * *

**American Embassy  
Rome, Italy**

Sarah Walker absolutely hated Fridays. Her weekends were filled with time, empty time. She'd tried dating other embassy staff but it seemed like everyone knew she was a spook and were either scared off or potential James Bond wannabees.

Her weekend touring Mt Vesuvius had been fun, but not as much fun if she'd had someone to share it with. She almost broke down and called Chuck. Screw the time difference. He'd be in bed still and she, well, phone sex was not unheard of. Even over a monitored phone.

But she'd dismissed the idea. She was going to stay on mission and on plan. Soon they'd be together and heaven itself would not keep them apart.

She viewed her time with Bryce as nothing more than physical exercise. She didn't see Bryce, she didn't hear him, and it wasn't him she was touching, kissing, crying out for. It was someone else and he knew it and it didn't faze him at all. All the time they'd spent together before the Intersect assignment had been like that. Physical only, no emotions, please. And their brief reprise had been the same. At least to her. She was just killing time with Bryce. Nothing more. The cumulative guilt still weighed on her like a millstone but she had survived worse and would continue the mission, the great plan.

She knew she should have told him what she was planning, given him some reason to stay the course, continue loving her even if she wasn't there. But she didn't. She didn't want anyone in authority to even suspect that her intentions were to work out her contract and get out. She wasn't sure Chuck could have pulled off the 'rejected suitor' if he'd known the truth. So she just left without so much as a 'goodbye it's been nice see ya round Bartowski'.

She never considered that John Casey might not understand and might not support her in absentia. She was single-minded in her purpose.

The consummate agent. And within months she and Chuck would be together again, where they belonged and the CIA could kiss her ass goodbye. She would be with Chuck. What could possible go wrong?

**Somalia**

Suleiman Ibn Faud had discussed the target list in detail with the representatives from the Jihadists. The problem was not access but excess. If what the representative had told him was true, then simply allowing an aerosol spray to discharge the nerve gas should be sufficient. He did not understand the wanton destruction of buildings a thousand years old or more. No doubt he would be told it was a lesson to those who valued Western excesses. It really didn't matter to him. His vengeance was almost complete. Only one more strand in the web was required.

_226 miles above Somalia, a Keyhole8 began its programmed routine of tracking the location and movement of a delegation of Jihadists who had been meeting with Somali pirates. Ground assets had provided photographs and identification of the Jihadists but infiltrating the pirate's home turf proved impossible. NSA analysts would have to connect the dots linking bio-weapons manufacturing in Libya and Sudan to Somalia. It would be up to intelligence agents on the ground to determine the 'why' after NSA identified the 'who' in the operation.  


* * *

_**Los Angeles, CA  
Apartment of Carrie Webb  
10:45pm**

"Chuck, you have to let it go. It's history. You're beating yourself up over something you had absolutely no control over." Carrie had been badgering Chuck Bartowski about his confrontation with Major Casey. Chuck felt terrible that she had overheard the argument and even worse that she'd heard his blunder about sleeping with her. To her it was no big deal. She was both flattered and touched that Chuck would defend her with such vehemence. Especially since she knew Chuck admired Major Casey and valued his opinion.

But she also knew that John Casey was right in a way. Chuck hadn't learned much from his failed relationship with Walker. Casey saw the budding relationship between them as an example of Chuck substituting Carrie for Sarah. In his mind it was wrong and Carrie Webb should be replaced because she was initiating a relationship with her asset. All it would take would be one word to Beckman and she'd be counting seagulls off the coast of Diego Garcia.

Chuck obviously didn't see it that way and for that she was eternally grateful. Within 60 minutes she had gone from a rookie agent terrified of her Jekyll and Hyde asset to a trusted confidant and bedmate. No sex though. She knew that she would climb his frame in a heartbeat if he just nodded in her direction but she'd never, ever, use sex as a means of controlling Chuck. After last night she knew she was needed. More than needed. Wanted. And she liked that a lot.

She'd been awakened by Chuck's nightmare at around 2:30 that morning, his moans and thrashing driving sleep from her instantly. He was having a bad one. Something about Sarah Walker being shot instead of him and not wearing a vest. She put her arms around him and hugged him to her, whispering in his ear that he was with her and safe.

She was surprised when he rolled over, took her in his arms and kissed her lightly, whispering "thanks, babe" and went back to sleep as soon as she'd snuggled up against him. That in itself was amazing because it had been reported by several observers that once he awoke during the night he could not get back to sleep and frequently went into 'work' early.

As a trained psychologist, Carrie knew well the effects of flashbacks in dreams. They were often reenactments of horrific times in the individual's life. They were the mind's way of identifying and solving problems and answering questions that the conscious mind hadn't asked yet. And dreams were incredibly symbolic so just knowing that a husband kills his wife repeatedly in his dreams does not mean he harbors her any ill will. It's just the mind identifying problems and presenting solutions in dream form.

She'd lain awake for an hour trying to piece together some reason for the dream and more importantly why he was able to go back to sleep. Was it the presence of a warm body or just her body?

"Ok, I surrender. I won't think about the Casey confrontation for the remainder of the night. But when I get home tonight, no promises. It just pisses me off that he immediately assumed that I was screwing you and that you were allowing it."

He missed the look of despair on her face when he talked about going home. She wanted him here with her tonight, all night. If they made love, fine, it's what she wanted. She wasn't a slut but she found him incredibly attractive and she knew he felt the same way. She still chuckled when she remembered the look on his face in the truck cab when he'd glanced at her and realized she was naked. His expression went from shock to lust to embarrassment to problem solving in a second. You'd think he'd never seen breasts before.

"Carrie, why are you smiling? I didn't say a damned thing funny."

"I was just remembering the look on your face in the truck cab after you guys blew up the Fulcrum building. You'd think you'd never seen breasts before, Chuck." She would never lie to him. Even if it embarrassed him. She'd promised.

He couldn't help himself. He looked at her blouse-covered breasts and she laughed out loud. "Horn dog."

She looked up at him. Damn, she would not cry. "Chuck, I don't want you going home tonight. I want you to stay here, with me, just like last night. Or maybe more than last night. I loved waking up in your arms, and I know that you knew I was waiting at the bathroom door when you were in the shower this morning. And it wasn't because I had to pee. I was hoping you'd need help scrubbing your back or something. So there, Bartowski, it's on the table. Will you stay with me tonight?"

"Yes, on one condition."

"Name it."

"Don't let me ruin it with a nightmare. Promise me you'll wake me up. I have no idea what happens when I have… those dreams. I wouldn't want to hurt you, Carrie, not for the world."

"I think I can handle that, Bartowski. The question is, can you handle me?" and once again she leaped on Chuck, legs around his waist, arms around his neck and lips effectively muzzling any response. After a long and deep kiss that left them both breathless Chuck managed to gasp out "Jesus, Webb, give a guy a warning next time."

"Nope, attacking you is half the fun in my life. Now sit down, and not in the damned papasan chair, while I change out of these California clothes. I got to get comfortable and so you sit and be patient. I wish you'd brought a change of clothes. You don't look like Chuck at all in a business suit. Although you do look yummy…" and she sprinted down the hallway to her room to change.

He got the hint. He had a sports bag in the trunk of his car. Casual clothes he'd forgotten to take out when he left the gym too tired and sweaty to change but not enough time to shower. He grabbed her keys and slipped out of her apartment and went down to his car to retrieve his bag. He also had a razor and shaving crème as well as a travel toothbrush. He figured since the next day was Saturday he could veg out if and when he went into the Citadel.

Carrie had taken off her clothes and was brushing her teeth when she heard the apartment door open and close quietly. She sat on the edge of the tub trying not to cry. Damn him, damn him for making her feel like this and then running out on her. Maybe he had learned something from Sarah Walker – how to run away from an emotional commitment. Tears welled up in her eyes.

She dried her eyes and walked out into the living room to turn out the lights and lock up, her mind a thousand miles away, or more specifically, 6 miles away. "Christ, Carrie, talk about casual attire?"

Her Agent Training and 10 years of martial arts went on autopilot and she downed her assailant with a spinning back kick before he had time to advance on her. Her assailant?

"Chuck, oh my God, Chuck, I thought you'd gone, I'm sorry baby, so sorry." He was out cold lying on his back with a sports bag in his hand. 'Oh, shit, what have I done?' as she rushed into the kitchen and made up a quick ice pack for his head. He was on his knees, obviously not fully conscious, but making a valiant effort at standing by the time she'd returned. The entire left side of his face was swelling and he might have a concussion. Her training and studies were designed to maximize the damage to an attacker. Instead they had maximized damage to her …

"Oh, shit. I can take a hint, Carrie. 'No' works just fine with me. We got to work on our communication skills though. That's definitely a 'yes' signal you're sending there."

Signal? She gasped. She hadn't put on her t-shirt after brushing her teeth. All she had on was a damned thong!

"C'mon, Chuck, let's get you out of those clothes and into whatever's in the bag and then let me check you out for a possible concussion. Jesus, I really know how to ruin a date and I had such wonderful plans…"

"Carrie, unless those plans include making love to a barely conscious man, please oh please put on a t-shirt. I am a man, maybe not much of one according to Casey but still a man. And you're a beautiful naked woman and I'm only human."

She laughed and hugged him, not caring that this time her head was on his chin and his face was… never mind. "Let's go to bed, baby. We'll see about the love making once I know you're not going to go comatose on me."

She got him into bed wearing just his boxers, silk boxers she was quick to note. She didn't bother with a t-shirt. She set her alarm for 2 hours planning on waking him for a quick neuro and cuddled up against him, one arm over his chest and a leg between his. Sleep came quickly. But so did the nightmare.

Chuck shouting _her_ name, her name, Carrie, not Sarah Walker, awakened her, He was in a panic. In his dream _sh_e was the one who was shot. _She _was the one who didn't have a vest. It didn't take long for her to calm him out of his nightmare and back into a deep sleep. All she had to do was whisper "I'm Ok, Chuck, I'm Ok, it's just a dream, baby, just a dream, I'm right here" and he turned towards her, wrapped her in his arms and whispered "thanks, Carrie. Sorry for waking you" and he kissed her, sighed, and fell back to sleep.

She awoke sometime during the night spooned with Chuck Bartowski. She was wrapped in his arms, his breath tickling her ear and his hand cupping her breast. She knew he was asleep. It was just a natural reaction she was sure. She lifted his hand from her breast, turned toward him and snuggled deeper into his warmth.

This was right. This was the way it should be. 'Oh, Sarah Walker, you _are_ the biggest fool in the world. You threw him away for a damned job. Idiot woman. Well, your loss. I have no intention of discarding him like a used Kleenex. This wonderful man is mine.' That was her last coherent thought for the next few hours.

She awoke first to take in an ugly man asleep in her bed. She hardly recognized him because his eye was swollen shut and he had a huge purple bruise covering his face from his temple to his jaw line. If her heel had been an inch higher she might be filling out paperwork in some dank cell explaining how she'd murdered the intersect. It had been that close. If she'd been taller or he'd been shorter, he would be dead right now. She slipped out of bed and down the hall to take care of business and shower.

Chuck awoke to a throbbing ache over the entire side of his face. He couldn't open the eye at all. But his principal concern was that her half of the bed was empty. The sheets were still warm but she was gone. 'It's _her_ apartment, numbnuts, get up and make plans to unass this A.O. after you scope out the situation.' He cringed. That was Casey's voice in his head and it was way too early to hear Major John Casey, even in the relative privacy of his own mind.

He sat on the edge of the bed marshaling his strength and balance. Nature was calling, banging on his bladder to emphasize her point. He stood, swayed a moment and walked down the hall to the bathroom. He heard the shower running and figured he could slip in, drain the lizard and be out before she was any the wiser. He hoped.

Everything was fine until, out of habit, he flushed. The shriek from the shower was his undoing. He tried to turn, walk, reach for the shower door and save her from whatever denizen of the sewer had crawled out of her drain all at the same time while his involuntary reflexes were on full 'startle' mode. So not going to happen. His legs wrapped themselves around each other and he overbalanced by reaching out for the shower door. Slightly more than 6 feet of Chuck Bartowski sprawled across the floor. 'And the Russian judge gives our boy a 5.6 to the wild cheers of the crowd' thought Chuck.

Carrie whipped open the shower door and took in the tableau set out before her. Yummy! A Bartowski buffet! She figured out that her scream when nice water went to hot water must have startled him and he overcompensated. Add a whacked head and limited vision and down he went.

She got him rolled over onto his back to check him for any further damage to his noggin when he opened up his eyes and flashed on the naked and dripping nymph bending over him, her honey brown hair still carrying the lather of her shampoo. He reached up and took a finger full of suds and brought it to nose and sniffed. "Help me up here, madam, I seem to have fallen and I can't get up."

Once back on his feet and aware of his surroundings, really aware, he did something so totally not Chuck Bartowski. "Let's do our bit for conservation. Share the shower?"


	9. Fall in Love, Fall Apart, Fall Down

_N/A: This is long. I'm sorry about that but it had to pulled out of my head before I lost it. The last part was especially difficult to put down on paper. I left out a lot that the purists would find necessary but if you've done it, you'll know what I left out and if you haven't you won't miss it then. Like they told us, it's not the fall that kills ya, it's the sudden stop._

_And MasterTomeWriter, see if you can find the wee hint of the story you so crave but have to suffer for._

Previously:

_Chuck Bartowski could never handle a woman's tears. They were his kryptonite._

_She's not that kind of girl, you arrogant prick._

_She viewed her time with Bryce as nothing more than physical exercise. _

_That's definitely a 'yes' signal you're sending there._

_Oh, Sarah Walker, you _are_ the biggest fool in the world  


* * *

_**Citadel  
Monday morning 8am**

Chuck was trying to be as sneaky as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was have yet another confrontation with John Casey. He figured if he could just avoid running into him for a week or two, he'd be home free.

And of course, who was the first person he should run into but the Devil himself.

"Hey, what the hell happened to your face?" Casey was shocked and immediately concerned.

"Well, y'see, it's like this. I went down to my car for…"

"And I didn't hear him return since I was in the bathroom and when I went out to turn out the lights and go to bed, well, he startled me and that's the result" pointing to his face with a distinctly sheepish look.

Carrie had hurried into work. She didn't want Chuck to have to face Casey alone. Lately he'd been especially vicious in his comments to Chuck about any 'relating' that Chuck and Carrie might be tempted to do.

"Hell, what did you hit him with? A bus? Chuck, you Ok, no dizzy spells, ringing in the ears, strange memories of mammaries, anything like that?" Now he was grinning like an idiot.

"Funny, ha ha, Casey. She did one of these Kung Fu thingies with her foot and knocked me out cold. Do not startle this girl when she's in a pissy mood, Major, you won't survive."

Casey grinned delightedly at Carrie. "Agent Webb, my sincerest congratulations. I think we've finally, finally found a way to get Bartowski to stay in the damned car. You do your Kung Fu thingy and…"

**5 Months Later  
Los Angeles, CA  
Apartment of Carrie Webb  
Sunday Morning 10am**

Chuck Bartowski had definitely died and gone to heaven. He felt like he'd been killed in the most pleasant way imaginable. And from the looks of things, his partner in crime had also died from extreme pleasure. But at least she'd passed on with a smile on her face. And such a salacious smile for such a demure young woman. Yes, woman. All woman. "I love you, Carrie Anne Webb, always and forever."

He chuckled to himself. She made the most delicious little 'eep' sound when she… His cell was ringing. He pulled up the sheet, covering her.

It was probably Casey preparing for another round of "didn't you learn anything from…" and he was so not in the mood.

"Hello, Casey, I guess I'm secure." He almost laughed out loud. Carrie had him in her world famous 'embrace of death'. She was straddling him in a most lascivious manner and had both arms firmly wrapped around him. She snorted in her sleep and wiped her face on his chest before settling back to sleep with that smile on her face.

"Funny, Bartowski. If you and little Miss Pole Dancer 2005 are capable, we have a situation that requires you immediate and full attention down here. I've been stalling Beckman for the past hour, Chuck. Sorry, but 'hide the salami' time is over. Duty calls you. I'll see you in 15."

'Well, shit. So much for the lazing around the rack plans. And an amazing rack it is, too.'

"Carrie, Carrie, c'mon, babe, wakey-wakey. We got a briefing with Beckman in 15, no make that 14 minutes. Casey called."

A very sleepy and satisfied "Screw Major Casey. It's Sunday and I'm in no position to move. Well, Ok, if you really want me to move…" and she began that thing she did so well with her hips and…

"NO! Please, not that. We have to get moving or Beckman will have a cow. And we need to go now. I don't want to lose this to a damned bunker under some little desert town in Idaho or Nevada. So. Move. Your. Fabulous. Fanny."

**Citadel, Los Angeles CA  
10:18am**

"You're late, Bartowski. I see Miss Pole Dancer is late as usual. I may have misjudged you, Bartowski. Don't ask me why because I won't tell you." He was bending over his computer console and hadn't even looked up when he heard Chuck enter the Ops Center.

"I'm sure she'll be here as quickly as she can. Why didn't you call her cell also? Why did you assume we were together? I deliberately left the watch in my apartment. Wait, damnit, Casey, you've bugged her apartment, too? That's going too far, Casey, even for you. Those bugs better be gone before the end of the day or …"

Carrie snuck in hoping no one would notice that she'd been getting coffee for she and Chuck and a glass of Drano for John Casey.

"Relax. I bugged your car. You were lo-jacked. I figured you'd try and hide yet another egregious breach of protocol so I went passive.

"Ahem, Team Bartowski, since you're finally all together, could we please begin the briefing. I do have things I like to do on Sunday afternoons. Things I don't normally get to indulge myself in since the arrival of Mr. Bartowski on the scene." General Diane Beckman was out of uniform. She was wearing a tennis outfit. She most definitely had plans.

"Satellite surveillance and ground operatives have been monitoring the movements of elements of Al Queda to Somalia. Groups of Arabs and Europeans seem to be making a pilgrimage to the coastline south of Mogadishu. Mr. Bartowski, do you remember the Somali national that you and Agent Walker eliminated on Treasure Island last winter, well, his brother…"

Chuck flashed, hard. "Abu ibn Faud, brother, Suleiman ibn Faud, known pirate and self-styled Pirate King of Somalia, recent activities centering around increased seizure of vessels within 200 miles of the coast of the Horn of Africa using Swedish Boghammers and crewed by Somali nationals loyal to ibn Faud the elder. Informants report that cargoes of pesticides, chemical such as …" and he finished his recitation 10 minutes later.

General Beckman looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary. Major Casey was subdued, almost introspective as he processed the information Chuck had provided. Carrie Anne Webb was staring at Chuck with a mixture of consternation, adoration, pride and astonishment.

"Excellent, Chuck. You've synthesized all available data into one cogent report. I'm glad we record these conferences. I'll have a transcript prepared and disseminated to embassy intel staff within the hour.

"General, the chemicals they've been hijacking, what use are…" Casey started to say when Chuck interrupted him.

"My God, General, they're making GB, Sarin. It's 500 times more lethal than cyanide and can be delivered via aerosol, food or water. This guy needs to die right now, not a moment's delay, General. He's planning mass murder!"

General Beckman absorbed this new revelation. "Team, hold fast, I'll get right back with you. I need to have some numbers crunched." And she disconnected.

"Cristos, Bartowski, you really shook up the General. I haven't seen her turn even more pasty white since you told her to kiss your ass back…"

Carrie reached over and held Chuck's hand. "Hey, don't lose yourself in the flash, Ok, I have plans for us. We'll get through this, together. The Team will do what's necessary to prevent this outrage. Whatever it takes, right, Major Casey?

"Right, Agent Webb. Whatever it takes. These bastards are going down."

General Beckman had returned to the conference. Had it been only 10 minutes since they'd taken the break?

"Yes, Mr. Bartowski, mass murder initiated by attacks against American citizens and American interests throughout Europe and the Middle East. Based on the amounts we calculate can be produced, casualty estimates are in the tens if not hundreds of thousands and possibly higher depending upon the mode of delivery and the locations."

"Nuke 'em, General. Today. Send in a B-1 and take them out. Hell, send the B-52 fleet and turn that shit hole into a glass parking lot. We know who and where they are, General. What's the delay?"

"While I agree totally with the sentiments expressed by you and Mr. Bartowski, Major Casey, the United States does not and will not use nuclear weapons to solve its problems. We're preparing a more…surgical solution. We have a team in Africa already on the ground and they've been tracking the movements of these terrorists under the guise of looking for bio-weapons manufacturing facilities. Suleiman Ibn Faud will be dead before the end of the week, I assure you."

"Now, Team Bartowski, are you up for a little travel to sunny Italy? We're going to relocate you to the Embassy in Rome to coordinate overall operations. You'll take your entire staff with you. You will have Carte Blanc with the Embassy staff. Accommodations will be arranged while you're in transit. You will leave tonight via Air Force transportation and be in Italy tomorrow. Check in with me when you arrive, Mr. Bartowski. And again, excellent work, Team." And the floating logo of the NSA appeared.

"Jesus, doesn't she ever say goodbye?" wondered a bemused Carrie Webb.

"Nope. Probably has sex via the field manual, also" snarked a suddenly wooden Casey. Chuck was very apprehensive. If Casey was this rattled, then the situation must be dire, indeed.

"Well, kiddies, it seems General Beckman has discovered your little arrangement. This email details our covers. Chuck, meet your Mrs." He pointed to Carrie and laughed. "She certainly has a wicked way of telling you two that Momma knows and approves, although grudgingly. I've never seen her so effusive in her praise, Chuck. Strange days, indeed. Again, I may have misjudged you, Bartowski."

"Now wait just a minute, Casey. Walker and I went undercover as married people lots of times, well, Ok, twice but you're making a totally unsupported assumption here. Totally out your ass, as a matter of fact." Chuck was indignant. Casey had stepped over the line – again.

"Then I suggest you read the email. After all, it was addressed to you, Chuck." And Casey smiled, yes, smiled and chuckled as he left the office and headed out to recall the support agents and brief them on the relocation.

Chuck read the email. Shit. She was suggesting a honeymoon in Rome? What has she been smoking? A sanctioned marriage between handler and asset? Rome?

* * *

Fr: Beckman.d

To: Bartowski.c

Subj: Rome

Mr. Bartowski, it has come to my attention that you have recently initiated a relationship with your CIA handler. This office does not condone such activities between asset and handler unless a legal relationship exists between said individuals. Neither the NSA nor CIA can condone such activities without the existence of such a legal relationship.

Chuck, Rome is a wonderful city for a working honeymoon.

D. Beckman, NSA  
Commanding

CC: FLOTUS  


* * *

John Casey was having an absolutely magnificent time planning the relocation of the Team and staff to Italy. He'd done a stint as deputy air attaché there in his younger days and he remembered Rome as a spectacular city, rich in culture and women. Oh, the women. And the food. The only thing he absolutely detested about Italy was the absolute dearth of decent breakfast food. He'd had to take his morning meal in the Embassy cafeteria and even then the locals had screwed up scrambled eggs and bacon. He'd ask Rivera. Every time he saw him he seemed to be eating breakfast.

"Hey, Jose, what's good in Italy for breakfast. You've been there. When I was there I just ate in the cafeteria."

"Don't know, Major Casey, I just eat what's put in front of me. Easier all around for me that way."  


* * *

"Carrie, I have to go out and run a couple errands, pick up some personal hygiene stuff, for the trip. Anything I can get you?"

"Nope, just keep in mind that I don't like that Axe crap you wore. Smelled like a musk ox in heat. I prefer my man's au natural scent. Sweaty and horny." She grinned and blew him a kiss and went back to work running the studies through the CIA database. So far, so good.

Chuck went out and got in his car. "Ellie, hi, it's me. Listen, I need you to meet me at…"

**LaCienega Drive  
Los Angeles, CA  
Sunday 3pm**

"Rome? Chuck, you're going all the way to Rome to propose to Carrie. Oh, my, oh, my, little brother you sure do know how to do it. Rome." Elliejoy was a phenomenon rarely seen in nature. It was an incredible burst of warmth and sta-puff marshmallow stuff. Maybe cotton candy.

"Well, we have a new client with locations in Rome and Europe and I thought since we're already there on the Company dime, why not do something memorable. Think she'll like it?" He opened up the box again. The solitaire sparkled in the sunlight.

"Chuck, if she doesn't, she's crazy. Chuck, I'm so proud of you. Especially how you got right back up after Sarah Walker left you and went out and found yourself the perfect mate. You two are perfect together and you're going to have such beautiful babies…"

"Whoa, Ellie, let's just get engaged and maybe married over there and we'll worry about kids and stuff later." 'Maybe never', thought Chuck. He hadn't exactly had an excellent role model of a dad.

"You're leaving tonight? On a chartered plane? How romantic. Take lots and lots of pictures, little brother. I'm never going to see Rome." Eight months pregnant Eleanor Faye Bartowski Woodcombe MD waddled to the parking lot and her beloved Volvo. "Call us when you get there. Have a safe flight," and she was out of the parking lot and on her way home.

**LAX  
8:45pm**

"Alright Bartowski, where's Pole Dancer? She's late as usual." Casey had a schedule to keep. And it didn't include CIA agents who couldn't tell when Mickey's big hand was on the 8 and his other hand on the 9.

"Right here, Casey." Carrie had run the last 50 yards, dragging her suitcase on its wheels. She was going to Rome. With her Chuck. Life was so good and right. In balance.

Chuck kissed her on the cheek and took her bag. "Oof, what you got in here, rocks?"

"Nope, but when we hit the ground we're in hostile territory and our armory is packed and in the cargo bay. I just want a little protection, that's all."

Casey nodded approvingly. He hadn't considered that his toys were packed away and wouldn't be immediately available if it dropped into the pot. She did. Again, she impressed him. And that took a lot. Of course, what really impressed him was how easily she controlled Bartowski. Or tried to. Most times she was successful but there had been a few rough times and she'd let him have it with both barrels.

"Damn it, Chuck, I told you to stay behind the barrels, you can't be out here dodging bad guy bullets. That's our job. Your job is to go in there after we secure it and do the flash thingy. I can't take out the bad guys if I'm worrying about my sweetie's ass. If you do that again, no specials for a month."

Casey saw the look on Chuck's face and started laughing. He didn't know or want to know what one of Carrie's 'specials' were but if it kept him from getting killed trying to be a hero, then he was in full agreement. Chuck Bartowski was already a hero to his Pole Dancer. And that should be enough for any man.

**Five hours later  
Over Central US**

A C-130 was not luxurious accommodations by any means but it had the room for the entire Citadel team and their equipment and armory. Casey had informed the team that MOP gear would be coming on-board at their final refueling stop in the US as well as some special medical equipment from the DoD and the CDC in Atlanta.

The powers-that-be were taking the threat of Sarin very seriously. No doubt about it, someone pretty high up watched the uplink of Chuck's briefing of his flash back in L.A. Someone with a near zero tolerance for unnecessary risks to the team. Sometimes being around Bartowski wasn't really a bad thing. Especially not since he'd met and well, shacked up with, Agent Webb. affectionately know by her nom de guerre, Pole Dancer, a reference to how she worked her way through grad school. No one snickered about it any more. Not since Major Casey threw one of the larger agents through a wall for making a very lewd comment about his partner within hearing distance of Chuck Bartowski.

When the agent threatened to file a complaint with General Beckman's office, Casey just laughed and asked if he remembered what happened to the old Chief of Station. Nothing further was said. It was easier to deal with Casey than an enraged Chuck Bartowski. Casey might hurt you but Bartowski would _kill_ you.

Chuck and Carrie were sitting in the back, trying to get comfortable in the torture devices the military humorously referred to as 'seats'. Since there were only 11 passengers, they had the entire section to themselves. The other agents gave them their privacy. More than one of them envious of the Boss' incredible luck in landing Pole Dancer.

Chuck had evolved into "the Boss" quite naturally and totally by accident. His skills at planning and execution as well as how he seemed to pull facts and figures out of his ass were legendary. No one called him "Boss" to his face, of course. In fact, Chuck himself had always assumed Casey was 'the boss' if there was one. But even Casey would agree that Chuck Bartowski was 'the Boss". Beckman seemed to agree. She'd even started having private briefings with him and he was required to sign off on all paper work regarding the agents assigned to the Citadel. He was, in essence, if not in fact, Chief of Station. Why Beckman kept the position open instead of filling it with Bartowski or someone who could be convinced to just stay out of the way of Team Bartowski was beyond John Casey.

Chuck knew Carrie was tired. She'd been on the go since the call and actually had a lot more to do than Chuck did. All Chuck's "stuff" was between his ears. He was his own workstation.

"Hey, Carrie, put up the arms of the seats and stretch out and put your head in my lap. You need to sleep and I have a million things to run through before we even land in Savannah for the final upload and refueling. You've had a long day and if I remember correctly, you also had a very physical night. So stretch out and catch some z's. You'll need to wide awake when we hit Rome."

He'd talked to the crew chief and gotten a couple of blankets to cover her with. For some reason she was always cold. And 30,000 feet was cold in a virtually uninsulated cargo plane.

She was out like a light in seconds. She really must have been tired.

Chuck was wired. And also tired which probably accounted for his lack of attention to one specific detail: Embassy staff and personnel. He flashed on the file and began to review the personnel, looking for anyone who might have ties to the Somalis or Al Queda. Sure, they'd all been vetted but that meant nothing in today's world. He'd finally learned the key to surviving in the SpyWorld: Trust No One. Well, ONE one, Carrie. He trusted her. He loved her.

He'd gotten through the J's and felt the need to hit the head. Unfortunately, the love of his life was comfortably asleep with her head in his lap, one arm wrapped around his thigh as if to ensure her sleeping self that he was still here. Still her's.

He pulled back her thick hair and slowly ran a finger around her ear, whispering "Carrie, please wake up, please. I have to use the facilities, babe." She just smiled and settled in more deeply and gripped his thigh tighter. "Please, Carrie, wake up now." No response.

Drastic times called for drastic measures. "Carrie, I've made up my mind. I'm going to take that vow of celibacy and join a monastery in Bulgaria."

She opened one eye and turned her head ever so slightly so she could see him. "You do that and it'll be the last day you ever stand to pee, Chuck Bartowski, the last day."

"Well, speaking of that, let me up so I can do that one last time then." He smiled and helped her sit up on the seat beside him. "I'll just be a second and then you can go back to drooling all over my lap, babe. Just one second."

When he got back she was sitting upright, buried in blankets and drinking something that looked like old recycled motor oil. "We'll be on the ground in Savannah in about 2 hours and maybe we can get out and stretch our legs and warm up a bit. I know you hate these unheated birds but times running out for us. The mission clock is running and we're a bit behind the timeline."

"Chuck, you ever think about what you want out of the future? You, we, can't do this forever, y'know? There are things I still want to do that aren't CIA events, y'know? I mean, I'd like you to meet my folks, especially the brats, and I know my mom would love you. My dad, now, that's your challenge. Ever wonder why there are no boyfriend pictures in my house? Simple, no boyfriends. My dad scared them off. Literally. He's not a bad guy just doesn't think anyone is ever going to be good enough for me. Well, I've got a surprise for him. You are." She leaned over and kissed his cheek and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Carrie Anne, I didn't plan to do this in quite this fashion, in fact, certainly not in the company of 9 other agents who are probably wondering why we're whispering. But…" and he reached into his inside jacket pocket and took out the blue velvet box but didn't open it. "Would you marry me, Carrie Anne Webb?"

"No, Chuck, I won't marry you. I'll only marry for love." She looked at him with those big eyes shiny with unshed tears. "Only for love, Chuck. Not for the convenience of the damned CIA or NSA." She got up, tossed the blankets across the seat and stalked back to where the other agents and Casey sat and plopped down in one of the seats and listened to the discussion.

Chuck was stunned, literally stunned. How could he have been so wrong about her? How could he have misjudged her so badly? His self-confidence was totally shot to hell. She'd played him, lied to him from the very start. She was no better, no, she was _worse_ than that fucking Sarah Walker.

He sat there staring at the small blue velvet case he held in his hands. His hopes were in that box. He wouldn't be a bit surprised if when he opened the lid he found the diamond had shattered, just like his heart. 'I'll only marry for love'. What a crock of shit this turned out to be.

He tossed the blue velvet case onto one of the seats and walked forward to the cockpit. He climbed up the ladder and sat in the engineer's jump seat. The pilot turned to him to ask what the problem was, took one look at the agent's face and turned around and concentrated on his flying. He'd just seen the face of death and had no desire to gaze upon it before his time.

Casey watched as Pole Dancer walked back and sat down across from him. Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. He didn't know what was wrong but he had a feeling that Chuck had said something that really hurt her. He knew Chuck would never intentionally hurt her so whatever he'd said or done was… none of John Casey's business.

They were still 30 minutes out of Savannah when Chuck got a cell phone call from Beckman. He could hardly hear her over the drone of the engines and the wind tearing along the fuselage of the plane. "Bartowski, secure" he almost had to shout to be heard. "Beckman, secure. Change of mission objectives. You will deplane in Savannah and await a military jet to take you to a staging area for the attack on the pirates. There you will meet with the ground forces and our CIA agents and accompany them to the target site. Chuck, this is a very hazardous mission but we need the intel the intersect can provide from a review of any records found after the attack. Our CIA operatives will be instructed to follow your orders _only repeat only _after the objective has been secured. After you review and report, return to the staging area for a flight to Rome to rejoin your team. Any questions?"

"No, General, none. It a straight forward kill, loot and scoot. I understand." Beckman picked up on Chuck's tone of voice. "Mr. Bartowski, is everything all right? Are you mission capable?"

"Everything is just wonderful, general, couldn't get any better."

"Beckman out."

He put his iPhone away and walked back to the pallet containing their personal gear. He rooted through the bags until he found his. He pulled it from the pile and walked to the forward-most seats. He opened his bag and changed into his ops uniform and went through a mental list of the weaponry and ammunition he'd require. He would not put himself into the hands of unknowns without the ability to defend himself. He separated his gear and pulled out a rucksack and repacked what he couldn't carry in the duffel. He had no idea what a "military jet" was so he planned on wearing as little as possible in case it was a cramped cockpit.

"So, Bartowski, going to war? A little early to be changing duds now, isn't it?" He'd seen the look on Carrie's face and saw the matching one on Bartowski's when he'd pulled his gear.

"Change of mission, Major Casey. You and the rest of the team will be continuing on to Rome from Savannah. I'm taking another flight and will join the team later. I don't have a timeline, Casey, just what the General told me. A mission op order with so many holes you could drive a truck through. Just instructions. Be a good little foot soldier and go here, Mr. Bartowski. Are you mission capable, Mr. Bartowski? Be a good boy, Mr. Bartowski."

"Chuck, what's…"

"Nope, can't discuss it, Major Casey, orders, y'know? Uh, Casey, take care of the Team for me, will ya? Make sure Webb wraps up in those blankets. She's a cold flyer." And a cold everything else too.

He held out his hand to Casey. "It's been a pleasure, Major, not always, but mostly." Now Casey was worried. This was not the Chuck Bartowski he'd known for the past 8 months since Webb appeared. This was the Bartowski with steel in his spine and limestone for a heart. What the hell happened?

**Savannah, GA**

The plane nosed down in preparation for landing. Casey shook Chuck's hand and said "I'll see you in Rome and I'll take care of Carrie for you. I promise, Chuck." Chuck just nodded, released Casey's hand and turned to gather his gear. He turned back to Casey and shouted over the reversing engines "She said 'No', Casey, she said 'No'."

Casey looked at Chuck as the crew chief opened the side hatch and lowered a ladder. Chuck slid down with a speed and grace that surprised Casey. 'What did he mean, 'she said no?' He walked down the side of the plane and grabbed the blankets Carrie had been wrapped in. When he pulled them off the seat he saw the small blue velvet case and he knew what was wrong. 'Aw, shit, Chuck, I'm sorry.'

He didn't think Chuck Bartowski was coming back this time. He didn't want to stick his nose in their business but Chuck was getting to be like the nasty little brother he never had. He grabbed the velvet box and walked toward the rear of the aircraft.

The large loading ramp was being lowered and through the opening he saw something that few people outside a select few would ever see. A Lockheed Blackbird. And Chuck Bartowski in pressure suit and flight gear climbing slowly up the ladder into the rear cockpit.

The Blackbird held speed and altitude records that had not been touched in 40 years. And since they were officially out of service, the urgency of Chuck's portion of the mission became crystal clear.

He turned to Carrie and motioned her over to the ramp. "See that guy climbing into the rear cockpit of that Blackbird?" She nodded but couldn't make out who it was. Just some pilot in a pressure suit and helmet.

"Yeah, Casey, I see. That's an old recce bird from back in the day. Went like a bat out of hell though. Someone important is getting a fast ride to nowhere, that's for sure."

He stared at her, mentally reviewing everything he'd seen or heard since the flight began.

He tossed the velvet case at her. She caught it. Opened it. Looked at Casey and saw contempt and anger.

"That 'guy' is Chuck Bartowski, Agent Webb. Seems to me, Agent Webb, that Bartowski's already had one fast ride to nowhere. Crying shame he's got to take another one. Damn, what is it with you CIA bitches. You just love screwing him over, don't you? Is it a course at the CIA training academy now, Screwing Over Bartowski 101? First Sarah Walker rips out his heart but he man's up and drives on until he meets you. I thought he'd finally found the perfect match, unfortunately it was a perfect match for Sarah Walker. And just when he's healed, when he's incredibly happy for the first time since the damned intersect got shoved into his head you go and do it again."

"Casey, he doesn't love me. He's never loved me. I was just someone to keep him company at night. He needs a cover so Beckman gives him one and the CIA gives him the cover ring and the asshole asks me to "marry" him in a goddamned air force flying icebox so we'll have a cover engagement. He never loved me. He's never, ever said it. Never. I'm not a CIA whore, John Casey. I loved him. But I will not 'marry' for the convenience of the damned agency. Give them back their damned ring." Carrie tossed the blue case back to Casey. There were tears of anger in her eyes. She was enraged that Casey would even think that she was like Sarah Walker. She walked past Casey to walk down the ramp. She needed air.

Casey grabber her upper arm and spun her around. "You know when he went out to run some errands early this afternoon, Webb, he picked up his sister and went shopping for an engagement ring. This is not a CIA ring. This is not an NSA ring. This is no stupid prop. This ring is a promise from Chuck Bartowski to you. Well, little missy, did you ever tell Bartowski you loved him? Did you ever think to really look at what he did and why. Did you even care? Keep the damned ring, Webb, I don't think he's coming back this time. I saw it in his eyes. I heard it in his voice. He said 'It's been a pleasure, Major, not always but mostly', and he asked me to make sure you were warm because you were a 'cold flyer'. You're a fool, Webb, a fool."

The last part of the sentence was almost drowned out by the Blackbird's two engines pulling thrust and turning onto the runway. The other team members were grouped on the end of the ramp watching something that no one would probably ever see again. A Lockheed Blackbird accelerating down a runway, clawing it's way into the heavens and disappearing from sight in less than 10 seconds. No one knew the Boss was on it.

Casey briefed the Team on the change in plans and ushered them back onto the aircraft. Their turnaround time was short and there was no time for sightseeing. The MOP gear and the stuff from the CDC were loaded and secured. He ignored Agent Webb for the remaining 14 hours of the flight.

Carrie Webb lay across several seats, wrapped in blankets with her head on Chuck's coat. She'd never told him she loved him. Never. He never told her either but he said it in everything he did for her. She'd always felt loved and was heartbroken that he might not have felt the same. He was right. They really did have to work on their communications skills. She finally cried herself to sleep, clutching his jacket and the blue velvet box. It would not be opened until he opened it. The ring would remain inside, until he took it out and placed it on her finger. It would remain so until either he returned to her or the world turned to dust.

* * *

**Blackbird  
Somewhere over the Atlantic**

Chuck looked at the display for the radar interception. When he boarded and was strapped in he heard the pilot say over the intercom "Put your hands in your lap and don't touch a damned thing. This bird is old and cranky and you know zilch about her. We'll be in Saudi Arabia in 3 hours plus in-flight refueling times and that's where you get off. I'll refuel and keep on heading East until well, you don't have the need to know. Just be quiet and keep your hands in your lap."

There were no ports or windows in his part of the cockpit. And the absence of sound was surprising until he realized they were probably cruising at 80,000 feet at Mach 5 or higher. The sound they made was already 20 miles behind them when it was heard. The only breaks in the monotony of the flight were the refuelings and then only because they had to plunge down from the edge of space to 15,000 feet to meet the Texaco. A quick fill-up and then it was back to the edge.

"Wake up back there, we'll be on the ground in 10 minutes. Please return your seat and tray table to the upright position and thank you for flying Area 51 Air. Oh, and don't touch the skin of the aircraft on your way down the ladder unless you want to pull back a charred stump. The leading edge is about 1,500 F. You'll be met at the ladder by your next contact for the final leg. Good luck."

* * *

**Saudi Arabia  
Unknown location**

"So, how much HALO experience do you have, Agent?"

"HALO? Well, I'm pretty experienced but it's been a while since I've had the time."

"Well, I'll help you into your gear about 30 minutes before you exit the aircraft. You have a GPS transponder and a board to help you in the descent, just remember to keep your oxygen mask on until you hit 12K then remove it immediately. Your stored O2 is about 10 minutes. Everything's automatic. Just step out and let the equipment do its thing. Oh, if the chute fails to open, just bring it back and we'll issue you another one."

Jumpmaster humor goes over like a fart in church with Chuck. 'HALO is not the game, numbnuts, it's High Altitude Low Open parachute descent.' Damn, he was hearing Casey in the back of his head again. Even his subconscious was getting snarky. Well, it would definitely be an experience. It was still dark and would be for another hour or so. He did some rapid calculations and figured he'd be falling at 88 feet a second, every second. Terminal velocity would be about 110 MPH. That meant he'd free fall for about 8 minutes before his chute opened automatically at 1,000 feet assuming he didn't slam into a 1,500 foot mountain… Bartowski humor didn't fare much better.  


* * *

**Over Somalia  
40,000 feet**

He could do this. All he had to do was walk off the back of the ramp and hope the slipstream didn't break his back or tear off a critical piece of equipment. He felt his balance shift as the pilot slowed the giant cargo plane to give him at least a fighting chance of survival. Chuck knew from his flight simulator games that the pilot was dangerously close to stall speed.

The jumpmaster hit a switch and the ramp began to open. They'd already depressurized the cargo ramp otherwise he'd have been sucked out miles from his departure point. Two minutes later a scared-shitless Charles Irving Bartowski stepped off a perfectly functioning aircraft and began his descent into the desert 46 miles southwest of the major port city of Bosaso, Somalia.

He wasn't prepared for this at all. He'd never jumped from a plane before, certainly not one going more than 275 mph and his body began to tumble end over end, head over heels, falling at less than terminal velocity because of his tumbling but still falling…falling…

He spread out like a starfish, arms and legs extended, hands cupped, trying to grab the wind and slow and then finally stop his tumbling. He knew that he was hyperventilating and that wasn't good considering he was using precious oxygen at a rate far beyond expected. Hell, if he couldn't stop the tumbling before the barometric altimeter reached it's target altitude, he'd suffocate before the opening of the chute snapped his spine like a piece of uncooked spaghetti.

His wind milling arms finally slowed his tumbling until he was almost stable, face up, looking at the sky lit by a rising sun and still he fell, now at full terminal velocity. He pulled his left wrist towards his masked face and pulled the cover off the face of the altimeter, shocked at his altitude, 2,700… 2,600… 2,500. He needed to get over onto his belly damned quickly and found it was a lot harder than it looked. He had nothing to push against except the air so he extended his left arm and 'grabbed air' and he spun over on his belly.

He suddenly couldn't breathe, he tried to suck air into starved lungs but his air supply was gone. Still he fell, not tumbling, not spinning, finally having attained a stable balance but still falling.

From somewhere in the recesses of his short term memory a voice pedantically repeated 'keep your oxygen mask on until you hit 12K then remove it immediately keep your oxygen mask on until you hit 12K then remove it immediately keep your oxygen mask on until you hit 12K then remove it immediately.'

The mask, take off the damned mask. He opened his visor with hands that didn't seem to belong to him, grabbed the quick release tab and pulled the mask from his face and breathed in shockingly cold air. And still he fell.

He wasn't prepared for the shock of the chute opening. He hadn't been prepared for any of this. He'd had enough. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go home and wrap himself around his Sar...

His landing was classic. Instead of the standard PLF (Parachute Landing Fall), feet, legs, butt, shoulder, he landed feet, ass, head. Even the helmet didn't totally cushion his head from the impact. And nothing cushioned his bony ass. He laid there for what seemed an eternity before he hit the Koch releases and dropped out of his harness. He sat up, looked around and saw… nothing. Just a rocky plain with short brown stubble that passed for grass in this part of the world. No sign of his ground team.

He sighed. What a fubar this turned into. He had no idea where he was in relation to where he should be. He unsnapped his ruck from his belly and opened it. He took a long pull on his plastic canteen and stowed it away on his LBE. He took out his M1911 and put it into his shoulder rig and removed and quickly assembled his MP-5. Shrugging his shoulders to seat the rucksack more comfortably he moved to the next item on his mental checklist.

He gathered up his chute, rolling it in his arms and wondered what to do with it. He found a depression and dumped his chute, covering it as best he could with a few rocks and some dried brush. He took out his GPS and found his location on his mini-map and realized he had a 3-mile hike ahead of him to reach the rendezvous site. Assuming they were still alive and kicking. He knew he was and that was enough for now.

The latest intel sent by Beckman showed that the pirates had relocated to a series of seaside fishing villages west of Bosaso near the border with Eritrea on the northern side of the Horn on the Gulf of Aden. That was the ultimate destination for him. But first he had to meet up with the ground force agents. His part in all this was simple, accompany them to the target site, wait until the dirty work was done then go in and read the mail, I.D. the bodies, record and transmit his flashes and catch a plane for the Eternal City, Rome.


	10. Late, Really Late, Lost, Really Lost

_A/N: I do not own Chuck. I do own the characters you don't recognize from the show. You may play with them if you promise to put them back when you're done with them. Regarding the timeline, I originally set this as a one-shot but decided to continue. Problem: Building a 3-year story around a dynamic group. Couldn't be done in a way I'd like so if any of you imaginative types can make suggestions via pm or review I'd appreciate it. I have dug a hole and find I cannot escape. I could go back and change chapter 1 but it would mean… changing chapter 1. And confusing a whole buncha folks who have already read the story, asked the question and received my answer. As of this date it's been 11 months, 16 days and 43 minutes since She made her exit. Correction: 44 minutes; 45…and then there's that whole daylight savings time thing and time zones and…_

_Oh, yeah, I forgot something. The last chapter was dedicated to anyone, regardless of sex or nationality, who has responded to the commands "Stand up, Hook up, Shuffle to the Door". You know what I mean. Blood on the Risers. And if you think HALO is a rush, try LALO.  


* * *

_

Previously:

_I see Miss Pole Dancer is late as usual_

_General, they're making GB, Sarin_

_Rome is a wonderful city for a working honeymoon_

_Chuck Bartowski was already a hero to his Pole Dancer_

_Chuck, I won't marry you  


* * *

_**Somalia  
Dirt track SSW of Bosaso**

The CIA convoy was running late. Everything about this country was late. Late 7th century. The people were friendly but wary, especially of white Europeans. A long history of strife had made these people distrustful of the Euros. Not without good reason.

The two land rovers and the three Japanese pickups were making the best speed possible over the worst possible roads. Twice they followed what they thought was the main road to the rendezvous site only to find that they'd taken a wrong fork or had followed a wash out and had to backtrack several miles. Maps of this God forsaken country were inaccurate and old. Really old. Some dated back to the 1920s.

"We're going to be late, really late. I hope this guy has the sense to stay put and let us find him. Why didn't they put a beacon on the site? We could have driven almost straight there instead of following these winding ruts called roads."

He looked into his side mirror and counted the vehicles. Yes, all accounted for. If one had to drop out for some reason their instructions were to remain in place until they returned. He doubted that would happen though. If they lost a vehicle out of the convoy they'd never see it again. It would end up in some Somali chop shop and live out the rest of its days as a gun truck for some warlord or pirate.

"So tell me again why we had to abandon our hide site and drive nearly 40 miles to pick up this guy? Why couldn't he have just have flown in like a normal spy?" He laughed at his joke. Airfields here were primitive and unreliable. And foreigners were frequent targets for kidnappers and worse.

"Orders. Now shut the hell up and drive. We're already two hours late." 'God, I sound like John Casey.'

**Rendezvous Site**

He'd made good time over easy terrain. According to his GPS he was within 50 meters of the rendezvous site and that was close enough for government work. He sat down and took another pull on his canteen. Once the day heated up and if they failed to show up, he'd be in serious trouble.

He took off the rucksack and leaned back against it. His shades protected his eyes from the glare but did little to protect his eyes from the bleak landscape. He thought about absolutely nothing. He just…sat…waiting. They were almost 2 hours late. He decided that if they were no-shows by dark he'd take advantage of the relative cool and walk to the coordinates that should be their hide. It shouldn't take more than 2 days at the most. _And what if they weren't there, O Magnificent Oz? _ 'I'll burn that bridge when I come to it. Now, get out of my head, Casey. There's too much shit in there to begin with'. He swore he heard Casey's laugh. Bastard.

**CIA Convoy**

"Damn it, do you want me to drive? I can't believe you can't follow a frikkin' map. This will cost us at least another hour, maybe more." The road they'd been following had abruptly ended at an abandoned village. Probably moved in closer to the city to find work. Nothing would grow in this blighted area. No rain, no crops, and no hope.

"I didn't hear you say anything when I said the road turned south. You just ignored me, as usual. I don't know what your problem is but we'd better get our communications straight. You're supposed to be my partner but all you do is sit there, staring out the windshield. Here, you drive. The land rover and the map are all yours. Good luck with that."

"Fine, but we're going off-road from here on out. We'll drive straight to the GPS coordinates and to hell with the map. The rendezvous site should be fairly easy to locate once we're within spitting distance. Go tell the other drivers to keep it tight and watch for any sudden turns or stops. We have a lot of lost time to make up. I hate being late. Totally unprofessional. Makes us look like amateurs instead of veterans."

"How come when I suggested it, you vetoed it as unacceptable?"

"Because you suggested it. Nothing you 'suggest' or do ever has a positive outcome for anyone but you. Now inform the drivers and let's get a move on. It's getting hot. Our guest may not have been outfitted for a long-term desert vacation."

**Rendezvous Site.**

'Damn, I should have lugged that parachute along. Could have made a crude shade shelter. Too late now. The bastards are 4 hours late. 4 hours. Stupid CIA pricks. They're all incompetent assholes with big egos and tiny peckers.' _'Pole Dancer is CIA, Bartowski, does she have a tiny pecker?'_ 'Shut up, John. Don't need the distractions right now, got serious sitting in the sun to do. And get out of my head'.

He had stripped off his heavy insulated coveralls from the HALO and left them at the landing site. Another mistake. He just might need them tonight. It would get a bit chilly when the sun went down. For now, though, the desert camos were pretty comfortable. It was his busted ass that hurt. He could have sat on the coveralls. Another lost opportunity.

If he remembered his briefing, it got pretty damned toasty in the afternoons here. Damned toasty. 4 hours late. Damned CIA incompetence to hell. Can't grab their ass with both hands. It should be dark about 7pm. If they weren't here by then he'd find their hide and frag their worthless asses. Bastards are probably sitting around drinking cold beer and swapping spy-lies.

He opened up his kit and popped two Advil and a handful of salt tablets. At least the CIA included Advil. They got something right. They even put a small roll of duct tape in it. Not totally incompetent after all.

**CIA Convoy**

"I cannot believe this shit. A busted radiator hose and you don't have any duct tape? What kind of spy are you? Everyone has duct tape. You use it to tie up the bad guys, fix broken bones, and cure STDs. I can't believe you don't have any duct tape anywhere in the whole damned convoy."

"Calm down. I'll figure out something. Maybe one of the locals has a suggestion. They live out here all the time and there are damn few NAPA dealers in town." He walked back to one of the trucks, spoke to the driver of the first one, then the second one, then the last one. He even asked the other land rover driver. He walked back to his partner.

"Well, what did they say?"

"Um, they said they used duct tape and they couldn't believe we didn't supply it. Now they're all worried about breakdowns."

"Well, shit shit shit. Let's abandon the damned land rover and double up and get back on the road. I'll drive the other land rover. Move the driver over to one of the other trucks. Strip the rover of anything useful and we'll get back on the road. I can't believe you don't have duct tape in your toolbox. Everybody has duct tape."

**Rendezvous Site**

He'd tried dozing but between the flies and the heat it was impossible. He should be tired after all the hassles he'd been through. Still, it had been pretty cool flying in the Blackbird and the HALO was a once in a lifetime thing (he prayed to every saint and God it was so).

He started to take another pull on his canteen but vetoed it. Needed water discipline. He'd just suck it up and wait for dark. He had no faith in the CIA.

CIA Convoy

"Get that idiot to move his ass and fix that tire. We're losing time. Here's another hour lost."

"We don't have a lot of spares since we never planned on off-roading it. How much further to the site?"

"Another 2 hours at this rate. Barring another break down or blown tire we should be there well before dark. I don't fancy driving in the dark off-road. But we're still 6 hours late already. And according to GPS we've still got 12 miles to go. Damn it." The route they were following was strewn with waddis and wash outs as well as small pointed stones that loved to imbed themselves in tires.

**Rendezvous Site**

SIX hours late. SIX. Damned CIA assholes. Can't tell time? I know someone else who has a bad habit of being late for everydamnthing. Must be a job requirement. 'Oh, wannabe CIA agent, you're on time for the interview, sorry, you failed.' _Hmmm, you never seemed to mind it when Pole Dancer was late now, did ya, Chuck? And I wonder why that was? _

Take a hike, Casey. And get out of my head.  


* * *

**US Embassy  
Rome Italy**

"Beckman, secure."

"Casey, secure. Reporting in, General. All present and accounted for. The staff here has our equipment and is assisting in installation. We'll be running full blast before the end of the business day here. I've spoken with the CIA Chief of Station here and have his full support and we've also met with the head of Embassy security and gone over their plans. Everything here is first rate, ma'am. Accommodations are close to this location and are far above standards. What are your orders for us, ma'am?"

"Major Casey, the package was dropped on schedule. However, we're still waiting on delivery confirmation. It's six hours overdue and no word or reason on the delays. In fact, no contact from the ground assets at all. The package has no tracking availability due to local conditions so we just have to wait on word from the recipients."

"Understood, General. So the actual delivery went off without a hitch?"

"Unknown. Again, we can only confirm that the package was dropped in the general area of the delivery point. Nothing else is known. Casey, it _was_ his first HALO and it was also his choice."

"Yes, ma'am. Begging your pardon, General, but it was never his choice. None of this was. Please advise when delivery is confirmed. The senders are anxious to know if the package was delivered without damage. It was shaken up pretty good during packaging and it's rather delicate."

"It's rather a bit more sturdy than first believed, Major Casey, but is there is anything mission-related that I need to be aware of?"

"No, ma'am, nothing related to the mission, just the… oh, hell, General, Pole Dancer said 'No' when he asked her. Can you believe that shit?"

No response.

"General, still there?"

"Yes, Major, I'm still here. That's… unfortunate. No change in orders, Major Casey, stand by for any new developments. Beckman, out."

John Casey just stared at his phone. Did Beckman sound… disappointed? Those CIA pukes had better not let the Boss roast in the sun. Six hours late? Unforgivable. Totally unprofessional.

* * *

Carrie Anne Webb aka Pole Dancer was being totally unprofessional. It seemed to be de rigueur with the CIA in this arena. She was sitting in the embassy cafeteria staring at a cold cup of coffee, unsure just how to proceed. Everything had turned to shit in less than 24 hours. Being in Rome just made that more evident. Right now she needed a task to keep her busy and her mind off her troubles. She was out of tears. She had to be. She'd never cried so much or so hard as she had since he'd left her in Georgia and flown off in the Blackbird. There was nothing she could do about the situation until he came back. Nothing but sit and relive those terrible few minutes when everything went to hell. And that had been done a million times already.

Casey was totally ignoring her and that was pissing her off to the max. This was between her and Chuck. He had no business interfering. His little lecture on the plane, well, maybe that was necessary interference but they were both professionals and he needed to start treating her like his partner, not some leprous basket case.

She knew what she had to do. Now was not the time for confrontation, maybe later, but not now. Not when Chuck's status was in question. Now she had to make Casey accept her again as his partner. That's all she could do. Until something else was known about… the Boss, she'd work with what she had.

She headed for their temporary armory. She might as well keep busy until something happened and they were brought back into the loop.

* * *

**Unknown location**

"So, your preparations are on schedule? We will meet the timetable? Ten days from now? All will be ready?"

"Yes, Suleiman ibn Faud has made his men available and we are processing them now to their target countries. Immediately prior to the attacks we will "inform" local authorities of the "Pirate Plot" and allow them to make some brief preparations for defense against the attackers. The more that are killed or captured, the better for us. The focus will be on piracy, not Jihad. And as per our plan, the Crusader home city will suffer the greatest physical damage and casualties."

"This will enrage the western powers and force their focus of military and political attention on Somalia rather then Iraq and Afghanistan. We will plant news stories discrediting anything ibn Faud may say about Jihadists being behind the plots and "suggesting" that it was nothing more than an archaic culture seeking revenge for the death of a family member. His selective looting of chemical shipping will explain the source of the Sarin to the casual eye."

"The lazy west will believe anything rather than accuse a religion. And our Jihadists will greatly benefit from assuming political, economic and operational controls over the remaining Somali pirates. Already our Yemeni brothers are planning assaults against western shipping. And in Indonesia, operations will ramp up and focus on oil shipments. The price of crude will skyrocket as we interrupt shipment to the United States and Europe. Ransoms will greatly enrich the coffers of the Jihad. As will 'quiet tributes' paid by the shipping lines. And the Brotherhood will remain, as always, in the shadows."

* * *

**CIA Convoy  
Lost**

"God damn it to Hell. The GPS has crapped out. We've been here before. Give me the damned map."

Rendezvous Site

'EIGHT hours. I could have had a pizza and a couple of beers and a nap and then made the damned HALO. No wonder we're losing.' He checked his GPS again, just to make sure he hadn't made a mistake. He really couldn't see too far in any direction. No sand dunes, just rolling hills covered with scrub grass, stunted bushes and rocks. Lots and lots of rocks.

And despite the discipline of a Jesuit, he was almost out of water. He scanned the sky, afraid he'd see a flock of vultures circling. Maybe the NSA could see him and send him a sign? They got satellites that can read the fine print on a contract so why can't they find one poor lost intersect? It's all Beckman's fault. Maybe he should moon her?

Since nothing was going to be done for him, he needed to ruck up and move out. He'd find those CIA pukes himself. Hell, he knew where he was but he'd bet good money they didn't know where _they _were.

He settled the ruck on his back, shrugged his shoulders, made sure he'd left nothing behind and with GPS and compass plotted a course to the CIA hide site. 'Bet they have air conditioning. Indoor plumbing. Big screen TV, probably a Jacuzzi.' He thought about Jacuzzi girl. Ah, that one was a cleanliness fanatic. He plotted his azimuth, sighted his objective and began trudging the miles to the hide. He tried not to think about his disaster of a proposal. But he had little else to do. One foot in front of the other was the order of the day and it didn't need constant monitoring.

He had told her loved her. He knew he had. Several times. At least, well, once, and she was asleep. Ah, shit. Change subject. I wonder what Casey's doing? Probably drinking wine in Rome.

**US Embassy  
Rome**

John Casey was most definitely not drinking wine. No, he was listening to a whine. Agent Webb had confronted him in the armory and let him have it with both barrels. Now she was winding down and losing steam. Casey almost, almost, felt sorry for her. Almost. His other partner had been CIA also. She'd whined, too. Mostly about Bartowski, but she'd whined. He hadn't listened to her. But he was listening to Agent Webb. She was staying the professional course. Keeping it purely business even though they both knew that the source of his ire was her dumping Bartowski right before a critical mission, a life threatening mission.

This is why the rules exist. Agents should not fall in love with anyone else. Well, Bryce Larkin had that one down. Oh, he loved, all right, just that it was himself he loved, not another.

"What do you really want, Agent Webb? Cut to the chase, please. You're being incredibly boring."

"I want back in. You're cutting me out of all that's going on. I'm your damned partner not an accessory."

"Let me make something clear to you, CIA Agent Webb, you're my 'partner' only because we had the same… handlee? No, asset. And your brief was protection of said asset and he's not here to protect. So go… shopping or something equally girly. Right now the CIA is not high on my list of reliable agencies."

"What the hell does that mean, Major Casey?"

"It means that my friend is out there in the damned desert, alone and maybe hurt or something, out of communication, and the CIA trolls who are supposed to meet him are now more than 8 hours overdue. And it's hot there, CIA Agent Webb. Very hot. And a HALO does not allow a jumper to carry a lot of unnecessary shit like extra water and rations. Maybe one canteen, his weapon and ammunition, a first aid kit and precious little else. Now do you understand my reluctance to deal with the CIA?"

"Then why am I not with him. He's my asset to protect. Why was he sent off on this mission alone, without backup? He was never, ever, to be left alone or unguarded. He is too… precious to… risk…" and she started bawling like a baby.

John Casey and Chuck Bartowski were typical males. Tears absolutely defused anger, brought out the protective instinct present in almost all males and generally rendered them unable to do more than hold the sobbing wench until he either gave in to her demands or she ran out of steam. Nether of which were likely in this case. So he just held her against him and rubbed her back and mumbled nonsensical things until she pulled it together.

"Sorry, I'll get out of your way until something breaks and we get news or a mission," and she turned to leave.

"Wait, Beckman's due to teleconference with us in like 15 minutes. Hang around and let's see if there's news of the Boss or a mission or update."

Those were the longest 15 minutes in Carrie's life.

"Agent Webb. Major Casey, what is your status?"

"Operational and awaiting orders, General"

"Excellent. I'm sorry to say we've had no contact with either Mr. Bartowski or the CIA team that was to rendezvous with him. It's been almost 9 hours since the scheduled rendezvous without word. We must assume that the CIA team has met with insurmountable obstacles or been killed and that Mr. Bartowski is missing. We will hold off on modifying that status until we have more information.

A Keyhole8 will be making a pass over the pirates' staging area and will also provide images of the area immediately around the hide and pickup sites. We should have those images interpreted and to you within the hour. Contact me again when you've reviewed the images and made a determination as to the status of um Mr. Bartowski. Beckman out."

"Well, that went badly. I haven't seen the General that rattled before."

"What? She was a cold bitch. Modify his status. She's"

"Carrie, she's upset. Didn't you notice her hesitation, her pause before saying 'Mr. Bartowski' that last time? That's a rare display of something other than anger with Diane Beckman. She's worried about Chuck, not the asset. Quite an emotional display for her."

* * *

**Somalia  
Somewhere**

The pair of CIA agents were standing on the roof of their land rover trying to determine just where they were but having no luck.

"I cannot believe this. We're LBS, again. How hard can it be to find one man out here? If the damned GPS hadn't crapped out we'd have had him and been on our way back to the hide. Instead, we're wandering around like the Israelites in the damned desert. We do not have time for this."

"Hold on, I'm going to climb up on the truck canvas and see if I can get a better view. Be right back."

**Somalia  
Somewhere else**

Chuck was hot. Really hot. He needed a beer and a beach umbrella. For the last 6 miles he'd been imagining that this was a section of Santa Monica beach he just hadn't visited yet. He figured the parking lot was right over the next little ridge and then he'd jump in his car and head for something to drink.

According to the GPS he's walked almost 6 miles from the rendezvous site. It felt like twenty. He was still not drinking water. He figured he'd need what he had to make it through the following day. He checked his pockets and found the small survival kit someone had thoughtfully tucked away in shirt pocket. He hadn't noticed it before. CIA issue probably why it was so ultra slim. Probably had all kinds of secret compartments and cool stuff.

What he found was a nasty tasting power bar that was like sawdust, tasteless sawdust. And all it accomplished was leaving him with a dry mouth and an increased thirst. The salt tablets were gone and he didn't think Advil had any thirst quenching powers. Maybe he'd find an oasis or something equally cool. He remembered a movie where the hero had gotten pissed and shot the dirt at his feet and water had bubbled up all around him. He looked around him, nope no palm trees and he wasn't one to waste ammo so shooting the ground made no sense.

He climbed the small ridge and took out his compass and map. He knew where he was and he knew where he needed to go. He shot his azimuth based on the GPS coordinates and erased his mental pace count and fixed a landmark in his mind and numbly started off again.

He didn't see the cluster of parked vehicles to his right. He just kept on walking his straight line to the hide site. Only 22 more miles to go. And it was beginning to get dark. Oh, joy, maybe it would cool down like in the movies. He'd welcome frostbite right about now.

**Somalia  
Lost**

He stood on the canvas top of the cargo bed of the pickup truck it was the highest point around. He carefully swept the area, turning around to his right slowly, not wanting to miss a landmark or a road. He had almost completed his 360 sweep when his binoculars filled with the image of a tall man in desert camo walking wearily toward the Northeast. He increased the magnification and saw the man was wearing US Army camo battle dress and carried a rucksack and an MP-5 slung like he knew how to use it. This must be the agent they were sent to pick up.

He jumped down to the cab roof and then to the ground and motioned for the drivers to get back in their vehicles and prepare to move out.

"Hey, I found our guy. He walked right past us. Totally focused on his path. Wearing US camo battle dress and carrying an MP-5 he obviously knows how to use. Looks totally at home out here. Steady pace and he has a compass and a GPS. That's got to be our guy."

He handed his partner the binoculars and pointed out where he was but he'd already passed from view over a small ridge. He had set a bold pace for this furnace.

"Let's mount up and pick up our guy. We're only 10 hours late. He'll probably be glad for the lift and something to drink and eat. Those HALO guys don't carry much in the way of reserves. He must be one hairy dude to be out here and walking to us. I'll bet that's the direction to the hide. Impressive."

"Shut up and let's pick him up and get back to the hide. I'm hot and a cold beer would be nice right about now. "

Chuck heard the engines start up and he whirled around looking for the source. Over the ridge he'd just passed over. Not knowing if the vehicles were his contacts, he dropped to one knee and brought the MP-5 up to his shoulder. He figured that if they were the bad guys he'd try and take out the lead vehicle and then rush them. If he could panic them into abandoning their vehicles or just driving off he'd have the lead vehicle for transportation. Piece of cake. He was in The Zone almost without thinking about it.

He moved closer to the ridge so that when the lead vehicle appeared he'd have a solid deflection shot on the cab. He didn't want to risk damaging the engine or tires. He'd cap the passenger and then the driver and run up over the ridgeline to flank the remaining vehicles.

The lead vehicle surged around the tapering ridge and presented the perfect opportunity for a kill shot on the passenger. Just…a…couple more…seconds…

Sarah Walker pulled off her baseball cap and let her hair fall free. The wind whipped it back and she felt the almost cool breeze of Land Rover's speed blow through her hair. She shook her head, reveling in the small pleasure. She turned her gaze to her right and saw the man on one knee, billed cap shadowing his face, MP-5 aimed directly at her in a textbook perfect ambush.

"Bryce, stop the vehicle and get your hands up, now!" She rarely used that panicked tone or volume so it got his attention instantly.

Larkin looked to the right, assimilating the tableau and knowing that if this guy was not a friendly then he and his partner were toast. A picture perfect ambush. A real pro. He jammed on the brakes and followed his partner's lead and raised his arms above his head showing he was unarmed.

Chuck Bartowski let out the breath he was slowly releasing in preparation for the shot in one big exhalation. He got to his feet but maintained his point of aim while walking towards the Land Rover. With the sun setting behind him, neither could see his face. They could see the weapon still aimed at them as the man advanced steadily.

Bryce Larkin was impressed. This guy was a pro. Maybe one of the legendary CIA Ghosts that legend had it were too good for regular missions.

A raspy voice uttered: "Rhubarb" Sign.

"Spinach" Countersign.

Friendly.

The ghost lowered his weapon. "Hello, Sarah, Bryce."

Neither agent recognized his voice. It had a dry and raspy quality to it as if it hurt to speak.

As the pickups drove slowly around the ridge the man quickly stepped behind the Rover and again set up his ambush. 30 meters, 25 meters.

Sarah walked over to him and placed a hand on his arm. "It's Ok, they're with…no, no, not you, not now"

Chuck Bartowski lowered his weapon and hooked to his LBE. He took out his canteen and drank the last few mouthfuls and replaced it on his webbing. He still hadn't looked at her, instead waiting to see if the men in the pickups made the wrong moves. At 10 meters, his M1911 would do just fine.

Sarah Walker could not see his face still shadowed by the setting sun behind him but she'd recognized the profile she'd spent so many hours looking at and memorizing. It was Chuck Bartowski. Here. All she wanted to do was slide between his arms and hold him until she didn't want to hold him any longer. He was here.

Bryce Larking got out of the driver's seat and walked over to the fender. He reached across the hood and extended his hand in greeting. "I'm Bryce Larkin and this is my partner the lovely Sarah Walker. I'm sorry we're late but"

**"_I know who you are. You are a worthless piece of offal vomited up by an adulterous woman. You have no honor_."**

The look on Bryce Larkin's face was priceless. It segued from shock to surprise to fear and finally caution. For he had been addressed in flawless Klingon. And been given a mortal insult as well. One that honor dictated required a fight to the death. But this was not some Star Trek program. This was real life.

Sarah watched Bryce Larkin's face flash through a series of expressions. The one that intrigued her the most was the fear. She couldn't understand what had been said but Bryce sure did. And whatever had been said to him with that deadly tone was not a friendly greeting. Oh, no. Not friendly at all.

"Chuck Bartowski? Is it really you?" Bryce's face smiled but his eyes didn't. He wasn't sure what to make of this situation but he was fairly certain it did not bode well.

Chuck turned to Sarah, still not looking at her but with his gaze fixed on Larkin. He did not trust him. "Agent Walker, do you have any water to spare? You're late and I've only had this one small canteen since early this morning."

"Um, yeah, sure. Let me fill it for you. We have plenty to spare." She was practically fawning over him. This was not how it was supposed to happen. It's far too early. She had a plan and she had to stick to it.

"So, Chuck. You're our new analyst for the mission. Cool. Whenever you're ready we'll get this show on the road."

"Cut the crap, Larkin. I'm not your anything. Since you two seem unable to accomplish the simplest of missions, I'm executing my brief and assuming command of the team. You were supposed to have 2 Land Rovers and 3 tucks. I see only one Rover. Where's the other one?"

"Mechanical failure. Busted radiator hose and we had nothing with which to repair it so we abandoned it. Them our GPS crapped out and the maps are virtually useless out here and"

"Quit talking, Agent. Do you have the slightest idea where you are? Or were you 'Lost bigger 'n shit' again?"

"Wait a minute, we found you, didn't we? Our mission is successful. We continue on as planned."

"Actually, Agent Larkin, you didn't find me. You saw me walking past your laager and followed me. That's why you fell right into an ambush a rookie would have avoided. _**Your arguments have no merit and you bring further dishonor on yourself by avoiding the truth**. _" The last in Klingon, again.

Sarah Walker had heard the entire conversation. Chuck had sucked them in like rookies and could have killed them both before they were even aware he was there. "Chuck, here, I refilled it for you. It's almost cold, too. The cooler still has some unmelted ice. And what language are you speaking? Either of you can answer that question since obviously you understand each other."

"Thank you, Agent. Now, let's get mounted and take advantage of what little daylight remains and get to the hide site. We have a lot of planning to do."

"Ask Larkin. Ask him for a translation, too. You'll find it… enlightening. Now, as I said, let's get moving. No need for stealth with these noisy beasts, so we'll just go like hell until we either find a decent road or a landmark either of you recognize. We have a lot to do and little time to do it. First off, do you have secure commo with Beckman?"

"Yeah, of course we do, why?" Walker asked, still not certain just who she was speaking with. And also concerned since Bryce had refused to contact Beckman with any updates until they found the pickup point. She supposed he couldn't acknowledge failure on any level. He was such a tool.

"Because I've been out of contact since 8pm yesterday when I caught a hop on a Blackbird. The situation is very…fluid and I need to update her on our little cluster fuck and check on the status of my team in Rome."

Chuck had a team? In Rome? What was going on here? Walker's cage was rattled. "So much has happened in the year I've been gone."

"Commo, please. And it's been 11 months and 16 days but who's been counting?"

"Larkin, why are you still standing there gaping? Get your people organized and let's get moving. You're wasting time we don't have."

"Bartowski, secure, General"

"Beckman, secure. Report please."

"I made contact with the CIA cluster fuck you sent to pick me up. They were lost bigger than shit and I came across their laager when I was walking out to the hide site. They've lost one vehicle to a mechanical breakdown so we're short a Land Rover but we can adapt the plan to accommodate it. What's the status of my Team, General?"

"In place and awaiting your return, Mr. Bartowski. Can I speak to the agent in charge, please?"

"You _are_ speaking to him. I have assumed command since the leadership here has been… lacking. I know what you're thinking but it would only jeopardize our mission's success. It has to be done my way, General to succeed. Now, any change in status of the target? Still a green light on taking him out or would you prefer a snatch and grab?"

"Kill Suleiman ibn Faud, Agent Bartowski."

"Understood, General so if there's nothing more…?"

"Chuck, about what happened. I think it's just a horrible misunderstanding. I wouldn't presume to tell you what to do in your personal life but…"

Chuck's laughter startled her into silence. "You wouldn't presume? I no longer have a personal life, General, I… I…lost everything I've ever loved, _**twice**_, thanks to your greater good. But I won't presume to lecture you of all people, General. Our next contact will be at mission completion, General. Bartowski out."

The whole conversation had been on speakerphone. Chuck had planned it that way, well most of it. He'd established his role, his mission brief and assumed command all in one conversation. Beckman knew he was right. And she probably knew she was on speaker, too, so his summary "promotion" to Agent status was probably more for their benefit than his.

Diane Beckman was a very astute judge of character and she knew that Chuck Bartowski really didn't care about anything any more. Not even his own life. And that made him the perfect leader for this mission because he only cared about the mission, nothing else.

She sent an email to personnel directing them to reclassify Charles Bartowski from asset/analyst to Agent-In-Charge effective immediately and to change his next of kin from Eleanor Faye Bartowski to Carrie Anne Webb.

Diane Beckman was equally determined to accomplish one of her missions also.

**US Embassy  
Rome**

"Casey, secure."

"Beckman, secure. I've heard from Chuck Bartowski. Apparently he found his pick up team lost in the desert after he'd decided to walk out and find the hide site on his own. He called the CIA team a 'clusterfuck' and assumed command and is now preparing to take out ibn Faud. You should be aware that the clusterfuck team consists of Bryce Larkin and Sarah Walker. Upon successful completion of this phase of the mission he will be returning to Rome with the remainder of his Somali team. Any updates from your end?"

"No, ma'am, just waiting on the Boss, er, Mr. Bartowski, to return so we can plan the next phase."

"The Boss, huh? Interesting. Is that a nickname, Casey, like Pole Dancer?"

"No ma'am. It's just an assumption made by all of us that, well, he's the Boss. No disrespect is intended. It's a very happy group of agents we'll have when I tell them the Boss is Ok.

"You're wrong, John. First, he's not the boss. He's Agent-in-Charge Bartowski. But more importantly, John, he's still Chuck and very angry right now and very bitter. Any progress on your end?"

How the hell does she do these things? "No, ma'am, but there's still hope. Assuming he makes it back."

Diane Beckman raised one eyebrow. Things must have been worse than Casey reported earlier. "Beckman out."

Carrie Webb was sitting in the embassy cafeteria with the rest of the team eating a late supper. Well, pushing food around the plate and listening to the others gossip.

"Hey, Pole Dancer, got some news on our boy."

She blushed and thought to herself "he's so not a boy, Casey, he's a man".

"Listen up, team. The Boss is the 'boss' no more. Things are changing. It's very fluid in Somalia. He had to find his CIA pick up team because they were 10 hours overdue and lost. He made contact and assumed command. General Beckman tells me the team is a real clusterfuck according to Chuck and he had no choice but to assume command to save the mission."

He waited until the buzz died down. He glanced at Carrie Webb and saw love and pride in her eyes. YES, hope abides.

"There's more. He's not THE BOSS anymore. He's now Agent-in-Charge Bartowski. Sadly, that's a CIA rank but we'll just have to live with it.

"When Chuck, excuse me, when Agent-in-Charge Bartowski, returns from Somalia after blowing away the Pirate King, we'll resume mission planning to neutralize the infiltrating Somalis we'll be responsible for finding while he's gone. Max effort on this, guys. We have to know if the Sarin is en route or already here. It's not very stable and degrades quickly. A short shelf-life to use the vernacular so we have a short window of time for any attacks."

"Also, two more CIA agents will be temporarily added to our little family. Agents Walker and Larkin were his clusterfuck pickup team. I don't think the Boss is especially impressed with either of them since he assumed command of the operation. At least we know one thing will be done right in Somalia. That's it, chow down and get back to work."

Casey sat down across from Carrie Webb. "You know, it was just a matter of time until their paths crossed. You got nothing to be worried about. He's so far gone over you I doubt he even acknowledges her existence. Carrie, he loves you and you love him. Marry the guy and put him out of his misery. His sister's been his life, now he needs you to be a wife. You're all he's got now. He needs you. And I'm done playing matchmaker. You do what you want. You've always been a little crazy there, CIA Agent."

"Casey, I hope he still wants a relationship with me. I misread the whole situation. I know he loves me and I'm going to correct the mistake of not telling him I love him every day for the rest of my life. Satisfied, John?"

"For now, yeah. But I'm going to be keeping an eye on you, partner."

* * *

**Somalia  
CIA Hide Site**

"Chuck, I need to tell you some things about the past year and about a plan I have…"


	11. Broken Dreams, Bad Dreams, unChuck

**_A/N: Converting Charahns to Charries, one mind, one chapter, at a time._**

_Thanks for all the reviews. If I'm making you think, making you compare and contrast characters, then I've done my job. If I haven't and you're reading for enjoyment, that's Ok too. Thanks to all you who've taken the time to review this. I appreciate all your comments and try to respond to questions and comments. If anyone out there feels brave and would like to pre-read MOAH2, PM me. It's a 'nice to Sarah' sequel to MOAH. I'm still struggling to awaken some semblance of Charah within my soul although I enjoy the hell out of reading it._

_Please read the last few paragraphs carefully. See notes at end. Also, there's a strong hint for a backstory if you think Phil Collins in one of Chuck's rejoinders. Subtle but speaks volumes in context with this story. PM me if you think you got it. I'll need the song title and movie title to award prizes. 1st prize: one week in Bogalusa, LA; 2nd prize: 2 weeks in Bogalusa, LA  
~Armor-Plated-Rat~  


* * *

_

_Previously:_

_Nothing you 'suggest' or do ever has a positive outcome for anyone but you_

_you don't have any duct tape? What kind of spy are you?_

_You are a worthless piece of offal vomited up by an adulterous woman._

_And it's been 11 months and 16 days but who's been counting?_

_He was such a tool_

_"__Chuck, I need to tell you some things about the past year and about a plan I have…"  


* * *

_**Bosaso, Puntland Semi-Autonomous Region,  
Somalia  
Hotel Juba  
Suite of Kings**

Chuck was bemused, disgusted and amazed simultaneously at Bryce Larkin's idea of a 'hide site'.

They had driven through the unlit streets of southwest Bosaso at a reasonable speed not wanting to attract undue attention to their little convoy. Bryce had kept up a rambling narrative of the operations plan the couple had been assembling since arriving, legally, in Somalia via a cruise ship.

They had joined the cruise 'en route' from Naples to Capetown and disembarked in Somalia to 'see the real Africa'. That was the bemusing part. Wealthy honeymooners, indeed. At least it gave them the element of freedom of movement. He just couldn't wrap his head around anyone taking their beautiful bride to the Stink hole of the Horn. He imagined the local intelligence agents couldn't either but probably wrote it off to the historical craziness of do-gooder Europeans. Cultural anthropologists were like that everywhere.

He had asked Bryce bluntly why the pair of agents felt it necessary to pick him up in a convoy rather than just a land rover. "Well, Chuck, we weren't told much about the individual arriving and figured to err on the side of caution. Had you arrived with a pallet of computer gizmos and commo gear we would have been SOL if we'd just brought the one Rover."

He let him have his point. It was valid at first glance but still left enough holes to raise the hairs on the back of his neck. "So how are you going to explain one man in battle dress to the Somali drivers?"

"Simple. We told them you were our bodyguard and couldn't enter the country legally. Nice, huh?"

Bryce parked and paid off the drivers and added a bonus for the driver who had to retrieve his abandoned rover. Chuck would have given him a roll of duct tape and a 10-litre plastic water jug and his apologies. Bryce flashed entirely too much cash for Chuck's comfort. Always was the big spender. Always had the car. Always had the girl.

"Chuck, I need to tell you some things about the past year and about a plan I have…" Chuck cut her off.

"Please, we'll have time for this in the morning, hell, later in the morning. But right now I want a shower and a cot. Nothing complicated. I stink. And I'm stiffening up sitting back here. I think I broke my ass when I landed. So please, just hold your thoughts. I'll make time for you, Sarah, you know that. I always did." He flashed a smile and patted her hand. "Later, please."

"Sure, baby, when you're feeling a little more human." And she smiled her special smoldering promise of 'later' at him.

Bryce returned and fired up the Rover.

"I'll bet you're thinking 'shower and bed', right, Chuck. You've been going at least 36 hours straight and you smell like you spent those in the sun – surrounded by dead fish. No offense, Chuckie, but you stink." Chuck wasn't offended in the least by any reference to his smell. He did stink. But Chuck wasn't 'Chuckie' anymore.

"So, Chuck, your own team? Wow, you must rate if you have a whole team of handlers. Coming up in the spy world, are ya?" He laughed at his own joke. He was fishing. He wasn't comfortable with this new Chuck Bartowski. He could find very little of the Nerd he'd palled around with at Stanford. He didn't seem at all fragile and awkward like he remembered. The last time he'd seen him was after the Lazlo affair and he didn't think 18 months would have changed him all that much. Maybe he was finally growing up.

"Yeah, Bryce, an entire team of sitters just to keep me out of trouble. What can I say, the intersect is the gift that keeps on giving." Bryce relaxed a bit; that seemed like an answer the old Chuck would have given.

"You still nerdherding at the BuyMore? The Castle still wowing you with its gadgets?" He knew that Chuck was embarrassed by his job and Sarah had said that the NSA was intent on keeping him there. Their cover had been fragile at best. A beautiful fast-food girl falling for a geeky-looking hourly wage guy at an electronics store was a movie plot not real life. It couldn't have survived much longer anyway. Sarah Walker had itches that needed to be regularly scratched and Bartowski did not make muster in that department.

"No. Not anymore."

Sarah Walker absorbed this news and turned to speak directly to him. He'd been sitting behind Bryce for a couple of reasons, no eye contact being one of them. He just couldn't look in Bryce's eyes without seeing the lies and deception.

"So what do they have you doing now, Chuck? Are you still living with Ellie and Devon? How did the wedding go? Are they happy?" Small talk.

"The wedding was nice and they're very happy. Ellie's pregnant and due any day now. I got my own place but don't spend much time there. Well, that will probably change."

Sarah picked up on a certain hint of sadness in his voice. A distress level he couldn't quite suppress and she wondered again at what he'd been doing since Treasure Island. When he'd taken off his cap in the desert she'd seen the scar and remembered all the blood and her fear. She'd almost lost it right there. That was the last time she'd seen him. The very last time. She knew he was still unconscious when she left. He'd never really been in danger from his injuries but she hadn't known that at that time. She just sent Beckman her request and left. Didn't even try to explain it to Casey. She just left, no note, no long letter to Chuck explaining her actions, no voicemail. Nothing. She just left.

"So, you finally left the BuyMore? I always said you could do more, be more. I was right. Look at you now."

"Yeah, Agent Walker, take a look at me now." There was something in his tone that said 'leave me alone now, I'm done talking.'

* * *

It was 4am when they pulled into the agents' "hide site". He was very glad he hadn't walked in to the site from the desert.

He walked out to the balcony of the suite for privacy. It was finally cooling down just as the sun was preparing for another day of Baked Africa. The breeze was still warm and he smelled so bad that he took off his uniform stood in just his boxers with his back to the living room looking out over the awakening city.

"Casey, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. How's sunny Rome, Major? Everyone settled in and on plan?"

"Yes, sir, Agent-in-Charge Bartowski, sir. And it's oh-dark-30 here, Agent-in-Charge Bartowski, sir." He could hear the snarky laughter in Casey's voice.

"Ok, I just assumed command. Beckman didn't object and it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Seriously, you guys settled in and ready to rock 'n roll?"

"Yeah, Boss, we're all set. So, how did the meet & greet go?" He already knew the basics from Beckman's briefing but wanted to hear Chuck's version. It was usually a lot more colorful for lack of a better word.

"They were 10 fucking hours late, Casey. I had to go find them. They walked right into an ambush like fucking amateurs. I mean I could have taken all 7 of them out in less than 5 seconds. Pathetic, Casey, pathetic. And Casey, the team that met me? Bryce Larkin and…Sarah Walker. I couldn't believe how they just drove in dumb, no oversight, no brief recce, just drove in as happy as clams at high tide."

"And what then, Boss, a lot of high-fiving with Bryce and face-sucking with Sarah?" This ought to be good. Can tell a lot about what isn't said as much as by what is.

"No, Casey. I got mad at how cavalier they were treating the whole deal so I ripped them a new one and told them to take me to the hide site. You wouldn't believe where it is. And that brings me to the reason for my call. I will be naked soon. I will be burning my insertion stuff. It stinks, Casey, I stink. I need clothes. Please send me an overnight to the consulate here in Bosaso with clothes. I need to get out and about and Bryce's clothes are… his."

"You'll have them this afternoon, Boss. I'll see to it myself. We have Carte Blanc so we might as well start using it. Any thing else? It's what, 4:30 and you're still blowing and going? You need to catch some Z's, Boss. Tell that asshole Larkin to pick up your package at the consulate at 4pm. It'll be there, I promise."

"Thanks, Casey. I'll talk to you later."

"Uh, Chuck, anybody you have any messages for? Any personal greetings?"

"No." and disconnected.

"Oh shit, oh dear" said John Casey. He grabbed a pad and started making a list of things he knew Chuck would need. 'Maybe a box of condoms?'

* * *

There were two bedrooms in the Suite of Kings. Only one had been used. Dr. and Mrs. David Janssen had asked the hotel housekeeping staff for 'privacy' as befitted honeymooning newlyweds and the stack of serving plates on the room service cart certainly underwrote their dedication to cover. Apparently Bryce still was addicted to Opium, as Chuck had once complained. Other Peoples Money. In this case, the US Taxpayer.

He stood out on the balcony in just his boxers after taking a refreshing and very much needed shower. The rest of his clothing was in a plastic bag until it could be burned later. The uniform had all markings removed and anyone examining the battle dress would assume it had either been looted from battle or stolen and sold on the black market. Everything was for sale in Africa.

He held his cell in hand scrolling through pictures of Carrie Webb and some of them together in happier times. He knew he should have left it behind on the plane with his other personal stuff but he'd broken protocol and lugged it along. It was his last link to what should have been a very happy life for them.

Damn her and her dedication to her job. She'd surpassed Sarah Walker in dedication. She'd slept with him, deceived him, and worse, she'd made him hope again. Unforgivable. He should have known right from the start, from the first meeting on the beach, that she was the consummate professional. But she'd been so _real _and he'd been so vulnerable and so needy. Bryce Larkin was right. People like him never get girls like that. Always second best.

He was so damned tired of it all. Seeing Sarah and Bryce together, and now knowing they were _really_ together, brought a painless closure to a part of his life and the person he would have sold his soul 18 months ago to have. 11 months and 17 days and he was finally out of love with Sarah Walker.

It would take a lot longer for Carrie Anne Webb, maybe forever. But he'd start, just like with Walker, a day at a time. Starting today.

He tossed the iPhone onto the top of the bag that held his battle dress uniform. He would burn it with the rest of the trash.

He didn't see the little icon in the display telling him he had 1 new email. He was already walking to his bedroom to take another shower and sleep. He still thought he smelled like a leprous goat and another shower would help. At least he hoped so.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It seemed to her that Bryce Larkin would never get showered and go to sleep. Yes, they shared the bed for their cover but that was all. Sure, she woke up some mornings wrapped up in him but that was just biology, nothing more. Now that she was sure he was asleep, she slipped from the bed and went in search of Chuck Bartowski.

She'd heard him out on the balcony talking with Casey and figured he just might have fallen asleep out there. It would be the perfect opportunity for her to explain her plan and beg his forgiveness for her past actions. It was too soon but she had to explain her actions.

All the lights were out in the living room and the balcony door was still open. Stepping out onto the veranda she searched the dimness for Chuck but he'd apparently gone to bed. Well, that was perfect, too. She'd have her talk with him and see where it led. Hopefully, she'd awaken in the arms of a man who would truly make her feel loved.

She noticed a blinking light. It was his iPhone that he'd tossed onto the bag with his clothing to be burned. He was mastering spy craft after all. She picked it up and opened the directory and searched for \SW knowing that's where their pictures were stored. He was still an organized nerd.

Dir \SW [empty] He'd deleted all the photos of them. A part of her was sad but a larger part understood that he had done it to keep his new cover, whatever it was.

The second directory almost brought her to tears. Dir \Wed. Pictures of the wedding. Ellie and Devon looked incredibly happy. There was Chuck and Devon, Chuck and Ellie, Chuck and … shit. The handler. She looked good; she'd give her that. And they looked like a couple. Good cover. They both looked so natural and good together. There were several pictures of the wedding party. Ellie had followed her suggestion on the dresses. Somehow that made her sad and happy at the same time. Ellie Bartowski had been her first 'bestest friend'.

There was another directory \US and she touched it open. Curious she opened the file and displayed the contents.

Photo after photo of Chuck and his new handler. Cassie? Connie? She couldn't remember. She just remembered picking her exact opposite as his handler to ensure he was protected from himself and danger. Now she wondered if it had been a wise choice. They looked so happy together. So _right_. He couldn't have fallen for her, could he? She would never cross the line. Sarah had tested her, baited her, told her the absolute truth about them but had withheld any indication of her plan.

She cleared the display and was going to toss the iPhone with the rest of the burnables when she saw the blinking icon that said to everyone 'you've got mail' and she opened it.

* * *

To: Bartowski.c

Fr: Webb,c

Subj: I should have said yes

When you asked me to marry you on the plane I thought you were joking around about our cover as newly weds for the Rome mission. I didn't think you were serious. I thought it was a CIA ring provided to you for our cover and that you weren't serious. I thought it was a fucking prop, Chuck. I had no idea it was YOUR ring, no idea that you were really asking ME to marry you, not your handler Agent Carrie Webb.

I reacted very badly. I told you I would only marry for true love. I thought you knew I loved you, that I would have said yes to a real proposal but I thought you were just using our cover. You've never told me you loved me…when I was awake. But I should have seen "Carrie, I love you" in your eyes every morning when I awoke, every time we made love and every time you kissed me good night. I saw it but didn't know what it was. Now I do and I'm so sorry baby for hurting you. I have the ring. Casey gave it to me when he found it after you threw it away and got on that damned Blackbird.

I didn't know you'd busted your ass before we left buying the ring with Ellie's help. I'm so sorry and I've cried a million tears since you left.

But I never told you I loved you, did I. I never said, Chuck I love you and I'll always love you no matter what, but I didn't and I'll correct that mistake every day of my life by telling you, I love you, Chuck Bartowski, now and forever more. So when this is all over, baby, ask me again, please? True love is hard to find and I've found mine.

This time I'll say yes.

Carrie

* * *

With a shriek of anger she hurled the damning evidence of her plan's failure and her loss off the balcony where it struck the parking circle with a satisfying crash that nearly matched the shattering of her heart.

Little voices she'd long-suppressed whispered to her in the back of her mind 'You should have told him. He's not like you. He's not like us. He thought we left him. We did. We never told him we loved him. Now _you_ blame him for not waiting, for not understanding? We never asked him to wait. We never told him the plan. We heard what he told the General. He'd lost everything he'd ever loved, _twice_… and now you would have us hurt him _again_? Deceive him _again_?'

"No" whispered Sarah Walker, "no, not again."

She left the balcony, closing the doors behind her and walked through the dark living room and slipped into her own bed, hoping that when she awoke she could begin loving him a little less each day, think of him a little less each night, and maybe in time, she would find true love again. Only this time, she'd tell him.

There is no agony greater than loving someone who used to love you.

* * *

**Hotel d'ella Vincenzi D'Amato  
Rome**

John Casey reluctantly knocked on the door of room 2512 and patiently waited for it to be answered. It was only 6:30am and everyone had had a late night and deserved a little rack time. But this was important and doing it over the phone was impossible. It had to be done in person. It was only right.

The door opened a crack, a puffy-eyed Carrie Webb stared at him, trying wake up, trying to suppress the dreadful meaning of a late night visit from her partner. If it were good news, he'd have called. She closed the door enough to clear the night latch and gestured for him to come in. She sat down on the edge of her bed, hugging herself.

John Casey was in full military uniform complete with decorations and medals for both valor and achievement and the various badges of his craft. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere but there.

"Oh, God, Casey, not Chuck, please, God, not Chuck."

"He's gone, Carrie. All three of them are gone. Bad planning, bad intel, bad luck, we'll never know. Their bodies were dumped off on the steps of the American Consul in Bosaso. It wasn't pretty but it looked to be quick so at least he didn't suffer."

Then John Casey came to a rigid position of attention and presented her with an American Flag as the widow of a fallen warrior. And someone else started knocking on the door.

John Casey reluctantly knocked on the door of room 2512 and patiently waited for it to be answered. It was only 6:30am and everyone had had a late night and deserved a little rack time. But this was important and doing it over the phone was impossible. It had to be done in person. It was only right.

The door was flung open and an hysterical Carrie Webb threw herself at him sobbing "he's not dead, Casey, he's not dead. He can't be dead, please, don't give me a flag…" Uh oh, bad dream time.

"Hey, he's fine, I just talked to him. I came over because he needs clothes and stuff and you took his luggage to your room. I need to get the Boss some clothes unless you really want him displaying his wares all over Somalia? And I thought it would give you some time to maybe write him a little note I could tuck in, y'know one of those mushy things women write to men when… ah, Hell, partner, if you can send him an I-Love-You email, you can write one out by hand. I think he needs to hear from you. He wants to hear from you."

She became devious Carrie. "How are the cases being shipped, John?"

"By air. We're using a USAF transport to haul freight and stuff all over for us so we're making a special trip to Bosaso to take the Boss some clothes and some files and a laptop. Beckman wants enhanced commo down there so he's getting a secure sat-comp that's ultra-secret. You've got about a hour to get it done, Carrie."

She looked at Casey with the saddest eyes, still red and puffy "I'm not writing him a letter, John. You and I both know the situation is far beyond a letter. "

"Damn it, Webb, you and I both know that Bartowski is the second most stubborn bastard on the planet about some things. You need to make this right. Right now. And this is the easiest way to do it."

"No, it isn't the easiest way, John. It's a face-to-face situation. That's why you're going to assign a qualified protection agent to accompany that super-secret, ultra-spiffy Sat-Comp to the Consulate in Bosaso."

* * *

**Office of the US Consul General  
Bosaso, Somalia**

"You have a diplomatic package for a Mr. Carmichael, I believe? I was told to pick it up at 4pm."

Bryce Larkin flashed his ID to the secretary who had already identified him via facial recognition program the minute he'd entered the building. He was on the special list.

"Yes, sir, and the packages came with an escort who will not permit them to leave her sight until proper authentication is provided by Mr. Carmichael. Its security rating is the highest I've ever seen."

That both irritated and intrigued Larkin. A high rating and an executive escort? Must be some of that high tech nerd stuff Chuck still fools around with.

The secretary directed him to a private conference room where the escorting agent would again verify his credentials and accompany the shipments to Mr. Carmichael. Larkin felt this was a bit over the top for something this patently simple but went along with it.

"Agent Webb, this gentleman is here to pick up the shipments for Mr. Carmichael."

Carrie Webb looked up from the folder she had been reviewing and looked at Bryce Larkin for the very first time. She sniffed. She was not impressed. There was no way that this asshole could beat Chuck at anything unless he cheated. No way. A moneyed pretty-boy from the looks of him. And she'd seen a lot of them working her way through grad school. She stood and walked around the conference room table and faced him.

"Cardinal" Sign

Bryce Larkin's mind went blank. The young agent was elegantly dressed in a white linen business suit, cobalt blue blouse and those 4-inch heels he loved and honey-brown hair in a French braid. A vision. And his mind went south.

"Cardinal" Sign

Protocol dictated that if the challenge was not met the second time, deadly force was authorized.

Larkin's mind came back on line when he heard the click of a safety being removed.

"Robin, Jesus, Robin" he said in alarm. These people were nuts!

"Actually, it's just Robin. 'Jesus' is not on the list."

"Get the Boss' stuff and let's get out of here, Agent Larkin. I could use a cold beer." She was playing with him. He didn't know it, but she did. And she was going to enjoy the hell out of it.

'Wait, I'm here for Agent Carmichael's stuff, I think you have the wrong man here."

"Chuck has a lot of names these days, Agent Larkin, _just_ like you do. Now go get the Boss' stuff. It's not nearly this damned hot in Rome and I don't want to appear before him looking unprofessional."

"Please, Agent Larkin, can we please get this show on the road?"

**Hotel Juba  
Suite of Kings**

Carrie waited patiently while Larkin got 3 of the hotel porters to carry the 2 suitcases and 4 equipment cases up to the suite.

Larkin knew Sarah was out taking some touristy photographs of the probable location of ibn Faud and Chuck was catching up on 36 hours of lost sleep. He decided to grill this young agent for some additional intel on Bartowski. He didn't appreciate the way he'd assumed command in front of Sarah. He thought it was unprofessional. And he didn't like it when he came off as a total tool in front of her.

Just as he was about to begin his mini-interrogation, Agent Webb began to unbraid her hair and shake it out. There was something incredibly sensual about the way she did that. She ran a brush through her hair and then grabbed one of the lighter cases and started to open Chuck's bedroom door without knocking.

"Hey, you can't just barge in on Chuck. He's dead tired and has been dropped from a plane, cooked in the desert and had a generally all-around bad day. He hasn't slept since"

"Since he boarded the Blackbird in Savannah. Actually, since he left L.A. Yeah, I know. I was there. Now, if you'll excuse me, the Boss needs his clothes and things." She opened the door and walked in, closed the door. He heard the distinct click of the lock. What the hell…?

It was dark in his room. And nice and cool. The A/C was running full blast trying to keep up with the African sun. She stripped off her clothing, folding it neatly on the bureau and started to crawl in between the sheets when she remembered something. She went over to her purse and removed a blue velvet case and returned to the bed, sliding between the sheets and assuming her favorite sleeping position, the box clutched tightly in her hand and took a short nap. She was tired and that damned dream had really upset her. A flag. For a widow.

Chuck awoke from a disturbing dream. Carrie was naked lying on his chest, straddling his waist with her face on his chest, arms around him, snoring softly and making little snuffling sounds of what Chuck used to call Happisleep.

He would really miss that. A lot.

He tried to get up but couldn't. He felt a moment of panic.

"I love you, Chuck, now go back to sleep, baby, you've had a long day."

This time he did manage to sit up bringing a slowly awakening Carrie with him still clutching him in her protective death grip.

"What are you doing here, Agent Webb? Rome is that way." He pointed in the direction of north.

"Ask me again, Chuck, please ask me again. I sent you an email explaining that it was all a misunderstanding. Please ask me again" handing him the small blue box. "Please, baby, I thought it was just your way of giving me a CIA cover ring for Rome. I didn't know it was _your_ ring."

"Marry me, Carrie Webb, marry me as soon as we get back to Rome. I love you, and I never told you that. I thought it a lot but I never told you. I'm so sorry for that."

"Yes, I'll marry you. But you _have_ told me you loved me. You said it in every kiss, every touch, and every time we made love. I just didn't know what it was.

Chuck slipped the ring on her finger, a perfect sizing and a perfect match.

"Oh, crap, Chuck, Ellie's going to have a bird. Elliejoy is practically a wedding in itself. We can't cheat her out of that. We'll have to wait. Do you mind, Chuck?"

"Yes. I do mind. I've learned how tenuous and fragile life is. I don't want to wait. Ellie understands. I told her when we got the ring. It's Rome. Soon as the mission here is done, we're Mr. and Mrs. Bartowski, um, unless you want to keep Webb for the job? I mean it would be confusing if someone ran into"

"Chuck, quit blabbering on and kiss me."

* * *

Sarah entered the suite and saw Bryce sitting on one of the couches, beer in hand. He looked perplexed. He looked like he'd been confronted with an insurmountable obstacle that he had to overcome. It was an unusual look for Bryce since normally everything came easily to him.

"Hey, partner, what's with the long face and determined look?"

"I went down and picked up the cases for Chuck. They were "escorted" by another agent. What's weird is, well, did you know that Chuck's code name is HARDDRIVE and that his people, including that prick, John Casey, refer to him as "The Boss"? Not to his face, of course, but it's strange. I tried to keep him out of this and within two years he's become, I don't know, he's become unChuck. I know that sounds really lame but it's how I have to describe it. The one guy I felt should never have to face the darkside is some kind of frikkin' Jedi Master. The only friend I've ever had is now… I don't know. He shouldn't be here, Sarah, he should be off doing great things not skulking around in the desert like a Ghost."

She went over and sat down beside him and took his beer and finished it off. She knew he hated that. She wanted an AngryBryce fully on his game not this introspective wuss. She got up and got them two more beers. Singha, this time. His favorite, not hers.

"And that bothers you, Bryce? That your loser nerd buddy from Stanford has become what we are both still trying to achieve? Does that kinda sum it up for you?"

He looked at her in new appreciation. "Exactly. Do you think the intersect did that?"

Chuck's door opened and he came out with his arm around Carrie. She'd dressed again, exactly as she'd looked when last Bryce saw her. Makeup perfect, not a hair out of place, but the frigid bitch he'd driven to the Hotel Jubal was gone. There was something almost radiant about her.

"Do I think the intersect did it? No, Bryce, I think _she_ did it" pointing at Carrie with her beer bottle. "That and True Love, Bryce." Sarah smiled a hello to Carrie and went to greet the couple. They had plans to make and blood to shed. True Love would have to wait for Sarah Walker, this time.

"Come on, sweetie, get your head in the game here. We have things to do." She offered her hand to Bryce and pulled him up and turned to Chuck. "What's the plan, Boss" And it wasn't hard to ask, not at all.

"Beckman, secure"

"Bartowski, secure. We're moving the op up to tomorrow, General. Sarah's tumbled some intel that the Sarin is already in the target cities. It's about at the end of its shelf life so you may want to recrunch the casualty estimates. Still too damned many if they complete their attacks".

"Understood. Is your extraction route secure? We have 3 tickets in the queue waiting to be planted in the local terminal's system. All we're waiting on is the date and time. Anything further?"

"Ah, General, make that 4 tickets, please. We've been reinforced from Rome and will require an additional seat. All our ID's and passports are secure with entry stamps so we're good to go there".

"Also, General, I don't have a sense of foreboding or anything but could you have the beneficiary on my"

"Already taken care of. Congratulations, Chuck. Beckman out."

"How _does_ she do that? Hey, Carrie, I asked Beckman to…"

**_A/N: There's more coming but I'm taking a break on Memorial Day. I got a cemetery to visit. Please remember why Americans get the day off._**


	12. We'll All Go Down Together

_A/N: If the middle part of this seems disjointed and the dialogue doesn't seem to flow but is jerky it's because of the element of panic I was trying for.  


* * *

_

"_Yeah, Agent Walker, take a look at me now."_

"_And what then, Boss, a lot of high-fiving with Bryce and face-sucking with Sarah?"_

_There is no agony greater than loving someone who used to love you._

_And I don't want to appear before him looking unprofessional."_

_Elliejoy is practically a wedding in itself._

_He shouldn't be here, Sarah, he should be off doing great things not skulking around in the desert like a Ghost."  


* * *

_**Eelya  
Puntaland Autonomous District  
Somalia**

Sarah Walker had examined the problem from every angle. The issue was over-watch capability and there was absolutely NO way of achieving it. The compound housing ibn Faud and his staff and security guards was the tallest structure in the miserable fishing village they'd relocated to. The exterior of the building had no windows on 3 sides. The original windows had been removed and the space bricked over with masonry and stucco years before, probably as a defense against the cyclonic storms that frequented the Gulf of Aden.

The primary problem was that if you counted the metal-roofed bell tower-like structure on the southeast corner of the building that occupied a quarter of the 75 X 100 ft flat roof, it was a three-story building and the enemy had made full use of it as both an observation post and machine gun position. It commanded the immediate area on all sides. They had the high ground. In addition to the tower, each corner of the flat roof seemed to have an emplacement of some kind, probably automatic weapons or antiaircraft. The lessons had been learned on both the advantages and vulnerabilities of helicopters. No one could approach the building unobserved.

A second problem was that there was no way to know how many guards were on the roof or in the building. They'd been unable to get a head count when the pirate convoy had left the compound they'd already planned to attack on the piers in Bosaso harbor for this one. The were caught flat-footed by the sudden relocation but didn't think it was more than coincidence. They'd been lucky that Walker and Webb had been staked out at the pier when they'd pulled out. They followed them to this location.

They had no idea of the number of pirates in the compound or their equipment. So far she'd counted 4 on roving patrol around the building's perimeter and she'd seen the heads of at least 3 guards peering down from the flat room. She could not see to tell if the tower was manned. So if they were on 8 hour shifts there were at least 21 guards, 28 if they were on 6-hour shifts.

Lastly, was gaining entry to the compound itself. There was a gallery-like veranda on the seaward side but it had been impossible to determine if it opened up into the building or could be used to enter through the only windows not blocked by masonry. The main entrance was opposite the sea, two large hinged doors, sheathed in metal opening inward to the courtyard. It was probably the most accessible entry point but was certain to be heavily guarded.

Webb had left her here to continue the recon while she went back to the old target site and looked for anything that might give them info as to arms, number of personnel. Sarah had warned her that if she ran into any pirates or even ibn Faud himself that she should consider the mission blown and report back to the Boss. It wasn't that she didn't trust her to eliminate any reasonable opposition; she just didn't want her put at any unnecessary risk. She'd think about why she'd been so specific in her instructions to Webb later when she had the luxury of time.

**Bosaso, Puntland Semi-Autonomous Region, Somalia  
Hotel Juba  
Suite of Kings  
Living Room Couches**

"Bryce, you ever notice that when you talk seriously to a woman that there's really 2 conversations going on? The one you're having and the one she's having?" Chuck was slugging down the Singha, and being tired, was also losing focus.

"That's a little too deep for me, Chuck. Way too philosophical. I'd rather go back to the old days when we talked about which cutie did the nasty and which didn't. Safer, saner, and lot less thinking required."

"Dude, you spend way too much time thinking with your little head. I'm serious. When you talk to Sarah, don't you see that you're really having two conversations? The one with the words, yours, and then there's the one with the meaning, hers?"

"Chuck, Sarah and I don't talk that much. Not like before I screwed you over with the email and she accepted her baby-sitting assignment. She changed then. I know why and you know why so let's quit dancing around here. What the hell are you trying to ask? Really, cause I'm thinking you're having some like second thoughts about the delightful Ms. Webb. You're a fool if you have any doubts about her, Chuck. She strikes me as a straight arrow. Sees the black and white of even the gray situations. Rare in a woman, rarer still in an agent. She and Sarah are a lot alike in that respect."

"Bryce, what happens if she's the one, the one who gets the put-down order? I've asked her to marry me and someday she might have to…this was a mistake. I can't put her in that position. She wouldn't do it and they'd just send someone else to take us both out. Maybe you or Casey or Sarah. I know that my killer will have the face I trust and the voice I know. Beckman knows I won't work from the hole, that I'll be… recalcitrant and that drugs won't work on me anymore. So it's death. I can't put her in that position, either as assassin or as collateral damage." He finished his beer and reached for the unopened one in Bryce's hand.

"Chuck. Look. At. Me. I sent you the damned intersect because I knew you were the only one who could always be counted on to do the right thing. Trust me, Bro, Sarah would kill anyone who tried to harm you. Casey, I'm not so sure of but I think he'd balk, too. And Beckman would be 10 times the fool to think that Carrie would do anything by action or inaction that would harm you."

"Chuck, you're worried about the wrong things here. They need you alive and kicking ass for them. And what's more, you've turned into a helluva agent and they realize your true worth to them. I guarantee that order will never come. Banish it from your mind, my friend, never, ever going to happen." 'Jesus, Chuck, why now? Why are you worried now? What do you know that we don't? What have you seen in the intersect that suddenly makes you this paranoid? Was it happening to him like the others? Was he seeing the end? Just when his life was going great? God, you're a first class son of a bitch if you let this happen to Chuck'.

"Bryce, when it does come, and if you're the one who gets the nod, do it so she's not involved. I don't care how you do it, but don't hurt her, please. I've never asked you for anything but you owe me a lost life and I'm asking you to give that life to her. Please."

Bryce was worried about the entire conversation. He knew Chuck was right that there might someday be a termination order issued. He knew that this side of Chuck, the old Chuck that he loved like a brother, this Chuck could see through the bullshit and see the spyworld for what it was. And Bryce Larkin knew in his heart of hearts that they'd send either Sarah Walker or him. The best to take out the best. It was their way.

"Ok, Chuck, you're crazy, but if it will give you peace of mind, I promise no one will touch her." And he'd die to keep that promise to his friend. That was a promise, too. "Hey, you thirsty bastard, you drank the last Singha!"

* * *

**Bosala  
Abandoned Compound**

Carrie Webb was scared. Shitless. She'd never been in a situation like this. This was here first foreign adventure. She didn't know how Chuck did it. She knew how Sarah and Bryce did it. Experience and training, mostly experience. She'd never killed anyone. She knew from rumors and reports that Chuck had, many times. She'd seen it herself. How he almost effortlessly and with little regard to the fallout and shit storm, capped the Chief of Station back in L.A.

How did he do it? A civilian with no training. He could be brutal one moment and gentle and loving the next. Was it the intersect? Or was it something else? She'd ask Sarah Walker if she could work up the nerve. Since coming here and seeing what it was they did, she was having second thoughts about marrying him. She would become a potential liability to him. Maybe a hostage taken by the enemy or worse, her own damned government. She knew what it would do to him. She couldn't ever risk putting him in that position. She had no doubt that he would declare war on his own government and probably win.

She hurried to the car. She'd found some manifests in the trash in one of the rooms that looked like it had been used as an office and needed to get them translated so Chuck could flash on them. Time was running out. And someone had to run down the coast and bring back Sarah and her pictures so they could begin planning.

She was almost to the car when he grabbed her. Her instincts and all that childhood and agency martial arts training kicked in. An elbow to the solar plexus, a back fist to the temple and he was down. She couldn't leave him behind. He'd alert his other pirates and the attack would fail. She couldn't take him to the Hotel. She could just see her frog-marching this filthy bugger through the lobby and asking room service to being her a large plastic tarp so they wouldn't stain the carpeting. Nope.

Using strips of his own clothing she bound him agency-style and dragged him over to the car and dumped him in the trunk. He could and would provide valuable intel.

**Bosaso, Puntland Semi-Autonomous Region, Somalia  
Hotel Juba  
Suite of Kings**

"CHUCK, BRYCE, I need some help here." Carrie Webb hadn't realized that all that adrenalin had repressed her pain sensors. Well, the little buggers were making up for it now. And she was leaking.

She staggered over to one of the couches and flopped down, holding her side and wondering how she was going to get the stain out of her favorite top. The one Chuck liked so much.

They'd been out on the balcony sitting and waiting. The conversation in the living room fresh on their minds, each wondering what the other was thinking. Chuck was beside her almost instantly.

"Oh, shit, Carrie, what did you do to yourself? Bryce, get the first aid kit and some water. Oh, baby, who did this to you? Where's Sarah? Is she alright?"

"Chuck…there's a present for you guys in the trunk of my car. Be careful. I didn't have cuffs. My present to you, babe. Maybe an answer to our mission."

"Where's Sarah, Carrie, is she with you? At the car? Where is Sarah Walker, Carrie?" His tone was soft but insistent. They'd gone out together and only one had returned and she was bleeding like a stuck pig.

Bryce handed him the first aid kit and bent down to help his friend. "Bryce, there's a guy in the trunk of the car, tied up, no zip ties, just be careful with him. Bring him up here or figure out where we can "talk" with him."

"Ok, Carrie, this isn't so bad. I've cut you worse shaving your legs. I need to staple your side up. It's a long cut but not too deep. I'll give you some Demerol and you won't feel a thing. But Carrie before I kill the pain, where's Sarah? Why isn't she with you? Is…Is she dead?" Bryce would be back and he wanted the information in case they needed to go get her.

"Chuck, baby, I'm sorry. We split up after we'd followed the pirates to their new hide in Eelya and Sarah stayed to recon and stake it out. It's the only 3 story building in town. She sent me back to the old hide to check it out for left-overs… and he got me when I was getting in the car with some shipping manifests. I took him down but he got me and I didn't feel it until I got on the elevator. I stashed him in the trunk. We've got to go get Sarah, so skip the juice and staple away. Just keep looking into my eyes and I'll be fine. Promise ya."

He leaned down and kissed her gently and slapped the autoinjector of Demerol into her thigh. He broke the kiss and looked into her eyes and saw disappointment and anger. He didn't care if she was disappointed for the rest of her long and healthy life. He would not hurt her unnecessarily. Not for the world. And anger was good. She'd need her anger if his suspicions were true.

Eleven staples and sterile gauze dressing later and he was finished. He gave her a shot of broad-spectrum antibiotics and went into the bathroom and washed his hands. Her blood on his hands shook him up. Not while he was treating her wound but rather afterwards. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking.

She could have died and he'd have lost her forever. Damn you, Casey, you never should have sent her out on this mission. She's a protection agent, not a field spy. He was sending her back to Rome. She couldn't operate in the field with that hole in her anyway and she'd be safe in Rome in case things went sour here. She'd be safer back with her family, married to a mailman and teaching third grade. Now he knew why agents didn't marry. And why handlers couldn't have relationships with their assets.

He'd been such a selfish, demanding, whiny and ignorant fool. What a burden his emotional neediness must have been to Sarah Walker. He had crippled her with his clinging neediness. But he hadn't known then what he did now. Would it have made any difference, then? Did it make a difference, now? He wasn't a spy. He wasn't Bryce. He was just a no-hope loser nerd from Burbank who answered the wrong email and got a sinus full of secrets. And his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"Casey, secure."

"Bartowski, secure."

"Casey, Webb is out of action. Send the plane. I want her out of here as quickly as possible. I'll send you an email detailing injury, treatment and drugs. Coordinate through the Consulate." The tone was strong and sure, confident. "Keep her there, Casey, please. Casey, John, I, I never knew, never realized how hard it was for you guys. I'm sorry, John. I owe you and Sarah a great debt and an apology. I never realized…" He couldn't talk anymore. It felt like someone was choking him, he couldn't speak and breathing was difficult.

And his hands still wouldn't stop shaking. It took him almost 10 minutes to type 4 sentences and complete the email. Bryce opened the suite door just as he hit the send key and the carpeted floor. He started to flash. One after another after another…each image more vivid that its predecessor, cascading through his mind's eye, each new flash causing a red hot splinter of pain to course through him… Casey, Walker, Larkin, Webb, Judas Syndrome Protocols, Beckman, faces, names, dates of death, protocol details, codes…lines and lines of computer code flowing through him endlessly. He was in Hell.

**US Embassy  
Rome**

Casey was on the phone with the supporting air unit. "I don't care if you have maintenance issues, I want you into Bosala and back without delay. I have an agent down and she's not spending one more minute in that shit hole of a country than absolutely necessary. Make it happen."

He noted an incoming email from Bartowski. Probably just what he said, nature of injury, treatment, drugs, etc. He opened the email and shook his head. He read it twice. "Aw, shit, Chuck, I'm so sorry."

Then he made a difficult call.

"Larkin, secure."

"Casey, secure. I want you to secure the intersect for immediate transport to Rome. A bird is preparing to leave shortly to pick up Webb. Contact the Consulate for arrival/departure times. Diplomatic passports are in the package with his clothing. Locate it and make sure he's unaware of his status. Secure his weapon. Don't leave him alone, Bryce. It's the Judas Syndrome. You knew it was only a matter of time. He's lasted months longer than the others and certainly longer than you or I would have. Keep Agent Webb sedated. Sedate Bartowski before transporting him to the airfield. Adhere to the protocols, Agent Larkin. If any personnel attempt to stop transport, kill them. If the intersect attempts to escape, terminate him and all remaining mission personnel. Authorization Omega per Judas Syndrome Protocols."

"I'm sorry, Bryce, but it's your job. It's always been your job."

"Beckman, secure."

"Casey, secure. General, I've initiated the Judas Syndrome Protocols. Agent Webb is down with mission related injuries. Agent Larkin is securing the intersect for transport contemporaneously with Agent Webb. Agent Webb is sedated. Intersect status unknown. I've have also initiated Authorization Omega per Protocols. Larkin will terminate all personnel and accompany the intersect's body to Rome for disposition in the event Omega is required."

"Are you certain it's the Syndrome, Major Casey? Absolutely certain?"

"Yes, ma'am, I received the email transmitted by the intersect through the host. All four 28-character hexadecimal sequences, General. No error."

"Very well, Major Casey. Beck…"

"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I have done my duty as required by my oath but effective immediately I am resigning my commission and terminating my involvement in this 'abortion' of yours. You have no idea what the effects of the syndrome your little programming changes caused are because you've ordered the murder of all those volunteers who underwent insertion and developed the syndrome within 12 hours of onset to cover your personal ass."

"Bartowski is not a volunteer. He had this abomination of yours inserted into his brain without his permission. And now, when it hits the fan and we need him to stop the slaughter of innocents you're going to murder him, also. You have no right under God or the Constitution to take such action and I will not allow it. I will not violate my oath."

'God that felt so good hanging up on that bitch for a change. Now to stop Bryce before he does something stupid, like follow orders.'

"Larkin, secure."

"Bryce, John Casey here. I'm on my way to Bosala on the evac bird. No one leaves, Bryce. We are off the grid now. We don't know the effects of the Syndrome since Beckman murdered the victims within hours of on-set. I have a feeling our boy will come out the other end better and stronger. Can I count on you, Bryce? Can I count on you and Walker to help me? We still have a mission to run."

"Major Casey, You can count on us. But what about Webb? And Chuck's been flashing since I returned. Instructions, Major?"

"It's just John or Casey. See you in 5 hours. Be creative, Bryce. Think 'What would Beckman want me to do?' Then do the exact opposite. Or ask Chuck. He'll have some off-the-wall screwy plan that'll probably work. Keep it together, college boy. We'll figure out something. See ya."

"Casey, secure. Has that bird left for Bosala? Hold it on the threshold; you've got some more passengers. Also, this is an Omega Protocol. No communications in or out until release code is confirmed. Make sure the pilots of that bird have max fuel. They may have other legs on their flight. Casey out"

"Rivera, secure."

"Casey, secure. The Boss is in trouble with Beckman and is off the grid with his team. Pole Dancer is down and Goddess is MIA. Tell the team that anyone who comes with me is probably going to die, killed by pirates or executed for treason by our government. I'll be with FEDEX at the field. You got 30 minutes. Anyone who comes, bring as much of the stuff from the Armory as you can handle. Watch out for our own people. Anyone who stays, no shame, no dishonor.

"Major, what those people eat for breakfast down there? Should I bring my own stuff?"

"Shut up, Rivera. Move it."

Damn, he knew he could count on Rivera, but who else?  


* * *

Chuck Bartowski was still flashing.

"Chuck? Chuck, buddy, can you hear me? Oh, crap, blood." Bryce went into the bathroom and pulled out washcloths and towels. He wet the towels in hot water and the washcloths in ice water from the refrigerator.

He cleaned up Chuck as best he could. He was just lying there with his hands clenched into fists, his eyes half open but seeing nothing just Remming away. Both nostrils were trickling blood and Bryce knew from his agency medical training that this was definitely bad. He dabbed at the blood on his lips and chin with the hot towels and he placed the icy cloths on his friends face. It was the most he knew how to do. The Judas Syndrome had not been covered in his normal training.

In all the commotion he'd forgotten about Sarah Walker. She'd been left out there, somewhere, by a now unconscious Carrie Webb and if she'd told anyone where, it was locked in Chuck's head, inaccessible.

"Walker, secure."

"This is Bryce. We have a situation. I need you to abort oversight and return immediately, Sarah. I need you here. Please hurry."

Sarah's jaw dropped. Bryce never panicked. Never. But she'd heard it in his voice. Panic. He didn't follow commo protocols at all. And he never deviated from them saying that protocols saved agents' lives. He even used their first names in conversation. Now she was near panic and she never ever came close to panicking. Ok, maybe when Chuck was shot, but that was different, wasn't it? 'Damn you, Larkin, I needed details.' She called him back but he didn't answer and it went to voicemail.

She stole a ratty old pickup truck from a fishing pier. She would try and bring it back. These people had little in their lives as it was. She didn't want to add to their burdens. Unlike her Porsche, she had no problem staying under the speed limit with this old Russian-built Opel, no matter how many curses in assorted languages she screamed. Her best speed was 37 mph.

Brice covered Webb with a light blanket. Considering the dose Chuck gave her she'd be out for at least 2 more hours and probably need another hour's recovery tine. She'd never see Chuck alive again. Chuck had done the medical honors and then "went away" as the 12 previous intersects had done. Complete loss of cognitive brain function and eventual loss of autonomic responses with resulting death from asphyxiation. And all he could do was sit here and hope his friend was lucky 13.

Within 2 minutes of his call to Sarah, Chuck started to convulse, not grand mals, but obvious muscle group contractions, cramping. It must have been agony. He grunted and groaned and made other horrible sounds. He hoped his friend was beyond feeling. Bryce knew death was just a few hours away according to the sketchy reports he'd been allowed to read back at Langley.

He gently picked up his friend and put him on the couch opposite Webb. He wanted to do something and this was the only thing he could do. Make him as comfortable as possible and…

He started to cry for his friend. His best and only friend. The best of us all and he'd given him this gift. Chuck had always made puns in other languages. The Gift that keeps on Giving. _**Gift**_ was German for _**Poison.**_

When Sarah Walker burst into the suite an hour later she saw her partner crying and holding the body of Chuck Bartowski. She saw the body of Carrie Webb, covered to the neck. The towels soaked with blood flung all over the couch.

Oh, God, no. The Protocols. The wild rumors about "other intersects" and how they'd gone insane or suffered massive aneurysms after downloading the intersect. According to urban legend at Langley, no one survived. And it was because of the Protocols that called for the elimination of anyone who had witnessed the event.

She drew her weapon and aimed at her partner's head. "Bryce Larkin, have you invoked the Protocols here?" If he nodded his head, he was a dead man.

"No, I was going to follow the Protocol orders from Casey but then he called and rescinded them. He's on his way here. Says we're going to continue the mission. And take care of Chuck."

"Tell me what happened here, Bryce, all of it, nothing left out, right now. Who killed Carrie? What happened here?"

He started to laugh, a high-pitched unnatural laugh. 'She's not dead, just got sliced up by one the stay-behinds at the old compound. Chuck hit her with Demerol and stitched her up and sent an email to Casey I guess setting up a Medevac. Chuck sent me to the garage but I saw his hands were shaking horribly. He said Carrie had left a present for him in the trunk of her car but he was still out cold when I got there so I left him there, still tied up in his own rags."

"There must have been a code in the email because when Casey got it he invoked the Protocols, including Omega, and then Chuck started bleeding from the nose and flashing. He's still flashing, Sarah, he's in horrible pain and he's still flashing."

"Sarah, he knew. He knew something was wrong. We had this really weird conversation about the same conversation having two meanings when it's between a man and a woman. And then he made me promise that if I were the one who got his termination order that I'd spare Carrie, he made me promise. He knew, he _knew _about the standing order and that it was our responsibility to terminate him. All he asked was that I not hurt Carrie. He said I owed him a lost life and that I should give it to her. He knew it would be you, Sarah, who would get the order or me but I think he really knew that it had always been my job. He saw things with the intersect, he knew things, and still he came here, he knew he'd die here and still he came."

Sarah was rattled. She'd never seen him cry. Bryce Larkin never panicked, never, ever gave a disjointed rambling report and he never, ever showed the slightest hint of concern or compassion for anyone but Bryce Larkin. Until now.

"Bryce, I want to give him an overdose of Demerol. He doesn't deserve this pain. I can't bear it if he were still aware, if something of Chuck was feeling this pain. Is that all right with you? I can do it but it's got to be Ok with you. He's your best friend." 'And he was the first True Love of mine. Oh, God, what will I tell Carrie? How will I tell her? I killed your future husband, Carrie?' She laid out three autoinjectors, two would be enough but she wanted no chance he'd survive. He would just go to sleep.

"Sarah, I think he's holding on for some reason. Maybe it's to see Carrie one more time, I just don't know. He should be dead. Total loss of cognitive functions and respiratory failure induced by autonomic response shut down. That's what they told me would happen. But he's still hanging on. Still breathing when he should be dead. Always was a stubborn son of a bitch."  


* * *

**ROME**

John Casey's heart swelled with pride. All eight team members aboard and almost the entire cache of weapons and explosives from the Armory stowed aft. Now, to take care of unwanted guests.

"You can't throw me off my own aircraft. Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Rivera, get these rats off my aircraft. We have a delivery to make."  


* * *

Sarah Walker had paced a hole in the carpet. Bryce had finally pulled it together and gone to get the luggage out of the trunk of the car and put it in storage. He made a few changes in the way things were packed in order to get what he needed before storing the luggage where it wouldn't be found for quite a while.

She was just about to use the Demerol on Chuck when Bryce returned.

"Put down the injector Sarah, we need to let nature take its course. We need to give Chuck a chance. He's still breathing on his own when he should have been dead an hour and a half ago. He's hung in there longer than anyone else has when the Syndrome kicked in. We owe him the chance. Put it down."

"No, Bryce, he' s suffering terribly. I can't stand it knowing I have his relief in my hand. It's cruel. It serves no purpose. If Carrie could speak you know she'd agree with me. It's time to let him go, Bryce. You're being selfish. You don't want the guilt. Well, here's a clue, I don't want to kill the only man I've really loved but I will, because I do love him. He'd do it for me and he'd do it for you."

"Sarah, you're right but you're right from an emotional viewpoint. He's my friend, my only real friend but we don't know why he's still alive. Beckman terminated all the others before they'd made it this far. No one knows if this is terminal or if he can pull out of it. He's done some amazing things; it's his destiny to do more. I won't let you do it. Go out on the balcony for a while. I'll stay with him."

Chuck had stopped bleeding. Either his blood pressure was low or this was part of the recovery process. No one knew. No one had ever gotten this far.

He looked over and saw that Carrie Webb was stirring. 'Tougher than she looks,' he thought.

"Hey, Carrie, wake up for me. I need some help with Chuck," said Sarah. Bryce hoped the moment had passed. He wanted Chuck to have his chance. He got up and went out onto the balcony. He had some planning to do.

"What's wrong with him? I'm going to have a loud talk with him. He stuck me. He knew we needed to get Sarah and he stuck me. Where is he? I'm going to kick his ass." She still hadn't figured out how to focus her eyes and didn't see Bryce leave or Sarah take his place.

"Hey, I thought I told you to run if there were bad guys there? You don't listen any better than your future husband does." It killed Sarah to say that. She should be his future wife, not her. If only she'd trusted Chuck, told him what she was doing, maybe they could have pulled it off. But now, the wheel had moved on and it was not her destiny. Hers lay elsewhere. She needed to believe that.

"Where is he? Did he and Bryce get you back Ok? I'm still loopy, because you're here so they did. So where is he? He owes me a damned explanation. We're on a mission. I should be helping plan, not napping because I got a scratch. Did you get the guy out of my trunk? Did he tell us anything?

"Whoa, Carrie, one question at a time. I stole a truck and came back on my own. You were out and Chuck is… Carrie, Chuck's got some issues with the intersect. He's been unconscious since he finished stapling you up. There's some kind of problem and we don't know what to do. We've made him comfortable but we just don't know what's going on. No one's made it this far. He's unique and we're hoping that incredible mind of his is working on a solution."

"Please help me up, Sarah, I have to see him." She had no idea what Sarah was talking about. She didn't have the access levels or need to know the details of the Project. Beckman hadn't briefed her on the Judas Syndrome and that started all kinds of bells and whistles clanging and shrieking in Sarah's mind. Why would Beckman not have briefed in her replacement?

"Ok, but watch that side. He did some fancy stitching and you don't want to ruin his good work, do you? I'm sure he was worried about a scar and that's why he gave you the Demerol. You know Chuck can't stand the sight of blood. Makes him wilt." Sarah didn't notice the storm clouds brewing right over her head.

"Hey, Miss Fancy Pants, I've seen him take out a guy and never blink. He's not the same guy you left behind. He's had a lot of experience in the field since you left and it's been a tremendous learning experience for him. And he's becoming quite deadly with that MP-5 he hauls around so don't think the Chuck you _**knew**_ is the same Chuck I _**know**_. Sure, he's still the same sweet guy who opens the door and worries about his team. But Sarah, he doesn't stay in the car anymore. He leads his team from the front like a good commander. I'm so proud of him. And Major Casey has come around too. Not so grunty any more. So either help me up or move and I'll get up myself."

Sarah put a hand under her arm and pulled her up, steadied her until she got her balance then helped her over to where Chuck was lying and eased her onto the couch. She could tell from the pasty white of her face that she was in pain but moving through it.

Carrie whispered in Chuck's ear, ignoring Sarah. As far as she was concerned, they were alone. "Oh, Chuck, what have they done to you? Please wake up. I need you, baby. We're a team; don't make me a widow before we're even married. I don't want a flag, I want you. Please wake up, Chuck." She was stroking his cheek, trying to hold back her tears.

Sarah turned away and walked out on to the balcony. Bryce was standing at the rail, looking out over the city, deep in thought. She hadn't deliberately eavesdropped but Carrie's comment about a flag struck a nerve. She had a mental image of _her_ funeral. No one would be there to receive her traditional flag, no one would treasure it and clutch it to them wishing it was her. She shivered, suddenly cold in the African early morning. She moved next to Bryce at the rail, putting an arm around him and resting her head on his shoulder. Anyone who saw them would think they were lovers enjoying the afterglow together.

"You know we're going to lose, don't you? We don't have the plan, manpower, explosives or firepower to pull this off. Carrie's hurt and Chuck's… not available. It'll be you and me, Bryce. Just like Butch & Sundance in Bolivia. Except they won't make a movie about it. You sure you want to take me to this dance?"


	13. Forgetting Things That Never Happened

DeadBefore13

A/N: I've had a block on this. I hate killing off Sarah or the Pole Dancer but one of them has got to go.

Armor-Plated-Rat

_Was he seeing the end?_

_You owe me a lost life and I'm asking you to give that life to her._

_She'd need her anger if his suspicions were true._

_Now he knew why agents didn't marry. And why handlers couldn't have relationships with their assets. _

_Gift__ was German for Poison._

_You sure you want to take me to this dance?"  


* * *

_

"I don't…a flag, I…you. Ple… wake up, Chuck"

Somewhere in those broken sentences Chuck Bartowski became _**aware**__._

He transited from a fugue state racked with pain to a light sleep with sharply disjointed dreams of a secret wedding, lovers ripped from each others arms, blank spots filled with memories of experiences he'd never had, dead people with blue lips, burning fighter jets, burning skyscrapers, funerals and flags, of tumbling and falling into darkness and finally he moved to a deep healing sleep.

Carrie Webb awoke with a start. Something was different. Something had changed. Her Agency training had awakened her to possible danger triggered by a change in her physical environment so subtle as to go almost undetected but so anomalous that it cried out _danger!_

She assessed her physical situation first. Flight or fight responses required that an agent know his physical capabilities and position. She was sitting on the couch in the living room of the Suite of Kings. Chuck Bartowski's head was pillowed in her lap. She'd fallen asleep stroking his hair, trying to give him signs that she was there and he wasn't alone. She was waiting for him to die. She felt a sense of satisfaction that was totally inappropriate to the situation but wrote it off as stress-related.

She cracked her eyes open to mere slits and saw that it was the dimness before sunrise. Not night, not day. Sarah Walker and Bryce Larkin were leaning on the balcony rail talking quietly and then Sarah left Bryce and went to their room leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Chuck was sleeping peacefully, breathing in long slow breaths with none of the grunting or groaning that had accompanied each inhalation; none of the stiffening and trembling that came with each exhalation. His fight to breath was over, it was now automatic. He'd passed through the crisis physically, at least. They'd have to see if there was anything left of Chuck Bartowski, mentally, and that wouldn't happen until he awoke.

**Somewhere over the Med**

John Casey was back in the air! Pilot in Charge. Well, OK, only pilot but he figured he was twice as good as anyone else he'd run into so he didn't need a co-pilot.

They were cruising along at an altitude of about 50 feet, the Mediterranean Sea blurring past the aircraft as it occasionally reacted to an air pocket or thermal. Casey loved NAP flying. Challenging his skills and machine against gravity and the radar of the US Navy. They were rogue now, officially pirates in their own right since they'd commandeered this aircraft and relieved its crew of the burden, clothing and equipment. He was sure some fighter puke channeling Tom Cruise wanted to shoot him down.

The coast of Africa was fast approaching. Then it would be time for Casey to really test his skills. He'd once bet someone that he could fly a big bird like this between the sand dunes but duty had called and he missed that chance. Today looked like a fine day to see if he'd have won that bet or not.

**Hotel Juba  
Suite of Kings**

Sarah Walker took a quick shower and then planned on a 2-hour nap. She figured Bryce would need that long to recover his emotional equilibrium. It was unheard of for Bryce to ever lose it but he did. And now he was going through the Agency's painful but necessary Critical Self Analysis exercises to identify and catalog the whys of his loss of control and how to identify similar circumstances that might provoke a similar response. In other words, finding the landmines in your mind before you mental foot does. It could save his life one day. But still, it was painful to acknowledge people, situations, past actions or inactions that all contributed to the events of the past hours.

The exercises didn't purge the triggers, simply 'hid' them using self-hypnosis techniques the Agency had developed from the brainwashing techniques of the North Koreans and the Chinese. You weren't a Manchurian Candidate exactly and if you had the right trigger and visual stimuli in the proper sequences, you could recover the memory blocks. It just wasn't recommended. There were tales of agents who accidentally recovered blocked memories and were terminated by their partners as a result. Some said it was a mercy, others said it was because they'd gone mad.

It was like the intersect in reverse. Sometimes she looked at people, places, a smell, or sound and it would trigger a … nothing. Like having the word on the tip of your tongue or when that sneeze builds to such an incredible level you think it's going to blow you face off and then…poof… nothing. It's gone. It was very unsatisfying. But in her life, very necessary.

She crawled between the sheets, and stretched like a cat and rolled over on her side smiling like a well-scratched cat reaching out for "…" and recognized another CSA moment gone from her life. It didn't happen a lot to her, but when it did, she always felt an acute sense of loss and intense sadness but both lasted only briefly and agents with as much experience as she rarely acknowledged it. But she did, each and every time.  


* * *

Chuck felt like a new man, mentally at least. The intersect was gone. He knew it was. There was a lightness of being, like he was the only one in his head this time, no masses of memory cells crammed full of the nation's military and espionage secrets squishing up against one another, just him. It felt great. It was great.

But best, there was no pain. His senses seemed hyper aware.

He was blinded by her smile and knew it was one of the last smiles he would ever see on her face for him. He had to know. He had to be sure.

The whole world suddenly turned on its side and his sense of 'now' totally disappeared. Memories flooded his mind, things he'd never done, places he'd never been and conversations he'd never had. But they were memories. Real memories. The pain was brief but incredibly intense. And then the heart ache set in. A pain in his chest that was almost real. It was real. How could he have ever forgotten her? He almost cried out with the pain, it was so real. And he'd been so cruel, but then it hadn't really been him nor had it been cruel. He lacked awareness then, as she still did now.

Time lost. Almost too much time. Would she, could she, ever forgive him? Had he lost her forever this time? He knew, but she didn't. She couldn't know. Would True Love be victor or vanquished?

"Hey, think you could like give up my head and let me sit up? I'd really like some water, Carrie. And I think I'd better speak to them. I've been out of touch too long." He hated himself at that moment more than he'd hated anything in his entire life.

"Bored with me already, sailor?" She grinned and helped him to sit up. She didn't notice the sudden heartbroken sadness on his face, like finding out Santa doesn't really come on Xmas morning. Or that the woman you were programmed to spend the rest of your life with had been arrested in Norfolk in 1998 at age 15 on her first attempt at prostitution after running away from home. She had the incredible luck of soliciting the Senior Chief Master at Arms of the Shore Patrol. Once arrested, he posted her bond, bought her a bus ticket and sent her home to her folks.

Actually to her mother. Her father had left them when she was two and her mother and her 3 other siblings lived a hand-to-mouth existence supplemented by welfare in ratty government housing. When the government people had come to her, offered her a considerable sum of money and guarantees that her daughter would be "raised above all this", she took the money, not caring about her daughter, but rather about "all this." She never saw her daughter again and rarely thought about her.

She'd been recruited by the CIA and taken to special prep schools and molded into the penultimate agent. All that was required was seasoning, experience and the right opportunity. They would partner her with Sarah Walker and Bryce Larkin.

Oh. Shit.

He had to know. He couldn't live like this unless he knew. Bryce had walked over to him, a huge grin on his face and shiny eyes of unshed tears and Bryce heard Chuck say with the saddest voice he'd ever heard from his best friend "Agent Webb, execute Omega protocol Alpha Sierra Alpha."

Carrie Webb's face went from incredibly happy to devastated to utterly expressionless in the passage of a second. She reached for her weapon but Bryce had secured it while she was unconscious when Casey had initiated the Protocol. He'd forgotten to return it when Casey rescinded his orders because he'd been busy with Chuck. She'd reached for an empty holster but her programmed reactions betrayed her intention. She had been sent to terminate the intersect and its host, Chuck Bartowski. She was to be _his_ Shiva, Destroyer of Worlds.

Bryce Larkin had his pistol out and trained on Carrie's forehead. He didn't know what he was doing, really, he just knew that she'd made an aggressive move towards the man she was supposed to be marrying. Nothing about this screwed up mess made sense any more. He'd just wait for Chuck's lead and follow it.

Sarah walked slowly out of the bedroom, weapon extended. She covered the distance to the trio in 2 seconds, while moving her point of aim constantly from Carrie to Chuck to Bryce and then back to Carrie. Carrie stood, frozen, no expression on her face, her eyes darting from one person to the next. They stayed on Chuck the longest.

"Remember Bryce, I told you that my killer would have the face I trust and the voice I knew. It was never going to be you, Bryce. They figured out early on that you weren't reliable. That's why they punished you so harshly for sending me the intersect. And why Beckman jumped at the chance to give me a new handler and let nature take it's course."

"Before she and I got involved, before we moved in together, she went back to DC for some brief retraining. She doesn't know, won't know, can't know, that they implanted the protocols, reengineered her memories and sent her back to me, primed and ready to perform her mission."

"Why do you think Beckman was so anxious to get us together when she'd gone to such great lengths to keep Sarah and I apart? Carrie Webb doesn't love me. She's been… programmed. It explains so much… so much. I've been reprogrammed also, during the last download an additional packet of data, so small, so innocuous, I had no idea and the impact was an emotional longing for my handler, that's why I never told her 'I love you, Carrie'. It's because I didn't. I couldn't. I was _already_ in love. For Christ's sake, _I was married!"_

Chuck Bartowski was close to the breaking point. It had been 18 months since their secret wedding, 15 months since they'd been taken, snatched on a routine mission and subjected to intensive 'therapy', for Sarah another round of CSA with the 'intense suggestion' that she leave the intersect and return to field status.

For Chuck it had been an overwriting of his memories with CSA-style memory blocks. He'd forgotten his wife. Forgotten their intense love for one another. Forgotten her commitment to him and his to her. No wonder her departure hadn't "bothered" him as much as Casey thought it should. His memory of her had been altered. He had no reason to suspect.

They had gutted his mind, purged all the emotional memories of "Chuck and Sarah", reduced her to an unimportant figure in his memory, made him remember her with contempt and hatred when the true emotions were adoration and intense love. She was his soul mate and they had ripped her away from him, raped his mind and left a disgusting residue of ill-concealed replacement memories.

Well, now he _knew_. He knew why agents recovering memories either killed themselves or forced others to do it. The pain of betrayal and loss was more than some could bear.

"Beckman saw the opportunity to install another assassin program in case the intersect initiated the Judas Syndrome. She figured it would give her leverage over Agent Webb in the event we couldn't make a go of it. Or if she had to initiate the Protocols before the next cutie was dangled before my eyes. She knows that if the Congress or Executive Branch found out about her little changes to the intersect program she'd be hauled up on treason and murder charges."

Tears streaming down his cheeks, Chuck reached out his hand, palm up, to Bryce and said, 'Give me your weapon, Bryce.' Quiet, assured on the outside, internally close to meltdown.

Bryce reset the safety and placed it on Chuck's palm. Chuck turned and handed it to Carrie who took it, and holstered it as if it were her own, still in a daze.

"Agent Walker, protocol series …" she heard Chuck start to say a long string of letters and numbers and suddenly the world turned inside out, her mind contracted to a small space and then resumed it's normal size. The blocks had been removed from Sarah Walker's mind. And an incredible string of memories emerged. She cried out in pain and anguish, almost dropping her weapon. Tears streamed down her face as she reintegrated memories into their proper context. Her husband was in danger. He needed her to be strong and resolute and to, as always, do the right thing.

Again: "Agent Webb, execute Omega protocol Alpha Sierra Alpha."

Sarah aimed her weapon at Carrie. Bryce stood frozen, afraid of what was coming. Chuck knew that the Omega Protocol would release the memory blocks, delete any programmed feelings of love she might have for the host and allow her free will to execute her primary mission: kill the host of an _aware_ intersect.

The look on Carrie Webb's face could only be termed one of violation. This man standing before her had violated her, corrupted her. Taken her against her will and now she was in a position to avenge those wrongs. In her mind's eye she saw Navy Senior Chief and Master at Arms Gunther, a rapist.


	14. Remembering What Never Happened Again

DeadBefore14

_A/N: There will be two, maybe three, chapters after this one. I don't think I want to wrap it up quite yet since I haven't managed to infuriate as many people as I thought I would. Just remember, Chuck's fortune cookie from the Burbank Red Dragon Chinese Restaurant: "It is better to be pissed off than on." _

_I'll finally be home in a couple of days and will be catching up on things like cleaning up the Lin before I put her in dry-dock for the season, reading the mail, dealing with bills, floods, pestilence so don't look for an update to this much before 18 August. _

_Armor-Plated-Rat  
_28Jul2009

* * *

**Hotel Juba  
Suite of Kings**

"Agent Webb, execute Omega protocol Alpha Sierra Alpha," said Chuck, repeating the earlier instruction. Bryce looked at Sarah in disbelief but her gaze, glare, actually, never wavered from Carrie's hands. One aggressive move on her part and she'd put two in her head as quickly as she could.

Sarah's head still ached from the release of the blocks and her heart felt full of love and dread. She could only hope and pray she would be forgiven for the last year's events, starting with her painful admission of love back on Terminal Island and her immediate departure for D.C. The pain at that moment, when she'd told him she loved him but couldn't protect him, had been incredible, cutting through her brain like a hot knife through butter. Apparently her conditioning had included some negative feedback for 'inappropriate thoughts' as well as a dampening of her common sense.

Chuck knelt down in front of Carrie and took her face in his hands. "Carrie, you can beat it. You know it's me you're looking at, not him. You know what's been done to you but I can't purge the triggers since Beckman put them on and excluded them from the download. Fight it, Carrie. You know me. We are partners. Forget the ring, forget the flag, remember, Pole Dancer, remember and beat this thing otherwise you'll die right here, right now and I don't want that."

Her hand twitched and moved towards the holstered 9mm and Sarah took up the sight picture again and tightened her finger on the trigger. It would only take an ounce or two of pressure and this threat to Chuck would be eliminated.

'_But what will that do to him?'_

'I don't care. I'd rather have a live husband pissed off at his wife than a dead husband being mourned by his wife. No question about it. I fell in love with him all over again after the damned sessions and I hope he will, too. Now shut up and let me do my damned job.'

Chuck heard Sarah's intake of breath in preparation for firing. He dropped his hands from Carrie's face and whirled around placing himself between his wife and his partner. For a fleeting second their eyes met and spoke volumes to one another. She eased off the trigger but maintained her sight picture but she couldn't see Carrie's hand through Chuck's body.

Carrie pulled the 9mm from her holster and pointed it at the back of her partner and then screamed "NOOOOO!" she threw herself onto Chuck. "No, no, no flags, no flags, please Chuck, no flags…" sobbing and clinging to him, trying to worm her way into him as deeply as possible. Bryce took back the Beretta that dangled loosely from her hand and holstered it. Chuck motioned with his free hand for Bryce to hand him one of the Demerol injectors on the arm of the couch.

He glanced at Bryce and gave him a head sign to take care of things and he led the sobbing agent back to his room. He could hardly walk himself, every muscle group screaming at being used again, but this was one walk they would take together. And once she'd rested, they see about those triggers together. She was his partner and his responsibility. Once he was sure she was sedated he would contact Beckman and request an evac. And then he would spend the rest of the day getting reacquainted with his wife who was probably getting more and more upset by the minute.

Bryce released an enormous cleansing breath, holstered his sidearm and sat down. God damn but this had been a long day. He looked over at Sarah and saw her looking at the back of her departing husband with such a sense of longing and love that he felt almost dirty for what they'd done in the past few months.

"Sarah, would you have shot Carrie if she'd acknowledged the Protocols?"

"Bryce, I figured you wouldn't hand a crazy lady a loaded weapon so I was waiting for it all to play out and I trusted Chuck to know what he was doing. Why?"

"Um, it was loaded, Sarah, why wouldn't it be?"

It was a white-faced Sarah Walker who practically fell onto the nearest couch and stared at her partner.

"Is Chuck _CRAZY_?" She shuddered to think how close he'd come to being killed by his former lover.

"Hey, you heard him, he said he had to know. You'd have done the same thing in his place."

"Would I, Bryce? I don't think so. I don't have that kind of faith. Not any more."

The sun had only been up for an hour and already it had already been a long day.

Neither of them asked the questions they should have.

How did he know? When did he learn about the Agency's Critical Self Analysis programs? How did he know Bryce had been punished? And most importantly since the knowledge was limited to just 18 people in the entire world and 11 of them were dead and because it was never downloaded into the intersect, just how did Chuck Bartowski know about the Omega Protocols?

And how did he know the release trigger codes for each of them?  


* * *

Chuck walked back into the living room after about 10 minutes. "She's sedated and now I have to contact Beckman and get her evaced. Carrie Anne's going to need a lot of therapy and I'm not sure even that will help her enough to return to normal life. She's certainly done with the Agency."

"Uh, Chuck, you can't call Beckman. Casey invoked the protocols and then he and your team went rogue and they're on their way here to support our efforts in taking out the Pirate King. I'm afraid she's going to have to stay sedated for as long as we're down here anyway."

Chuck walked over to where Sarah sat and held out his hand. "Come on, let's take a walk and get some things settled. I know we both have a lot of shit we're carrying around right now but it's not our fault, well, certainly not _yours_, and I, aw, hell, Sarah, please, don't go all stone cold on me, please. I don't think I could go on if you…"

She took his hand and levered herself off the couch, looked into his eyes and then kissed him tenderly and lovingly. "Shhh, don't say another thing. Let's go for a walk. They have a beautiful garden and we can find a bench in the shade and just talk, Chuck."

Chuck was suddenly hit with the enormity of the day's events and it proved to be the straw that broke the camel's emotional back. He felt a tear form and roll down his cheek and then another and another…

"Oh, baby, please, don't cry. It's all right now. We're back together and nothing will ever separate us again, I promise."

She put her arms around him for the first time in 11 months and 18 days and just held on. She knew he was just barely keeping it together. He must be so tired and spent after the Syndrome attack and the emotional drain of finding and triggering the removal of all the memory blocks.

"Hey, you two, I'm going out and score some additional meds for Agent Webb since we're going to need to keep her calm and quiet. I'll be gone a couple of hours. Talk here. I'll also check on Carrie's 'luggage'. A couple of hours, at least. I'll be in touch by phone if I learn anything mission-related." Bryce knew his friends needed time to sort things out at least as much as they could in 2 hours. What a mess Beckman had made of their lives.

* * *

Bryce had just gotten to the parking garage when his phone chirped.

"Larkin, secure."

"Bryce, John Casey, we're about 90 minutes out of Bosala. Can you meet us with transportation for 8 and a lot of metal? And we'll need someplace to hole up for a bit.

How's he doing, Bryce? Is he still… alive?"

"Casey, it was amazing. He's fine, terrific. He's just… I don't know how to explain or describe it, Casey, but he beat it, the son of a bitch beat the Syndrome and he's fine. OK, physically he's a wreck from the seizures but mentally? He's on his game, Casey. Better than before."

In the background he could hear Casey telling someone to tell the others that 'the Boss' was OK and they'd be on the ground in 2 hours and the resulting cheers. Sounded like a frikkin' pep rally.

"Larkin, that is amazing. So, did he and Pole Dancer, I mean, Agent Webb, did they settle their differences? You know he's going to marry her, don't you? Best thing to happen to Chuck since I've known him."

"Casey, short answer, no, and I think marriage is out of the picture, definitely. I don't want to discuss it like this just understand that I'll need all your sedatives for the duration of our stay. I really can't say more without a face-to-face, John. It's a bad situation and Beckman really fucked those three up."

"Three? Jesus, don't tell me Walker got between them some how. Damn her! She tells him she loves him then leaves without so much as a 'goodbye, Chuck' and then she gets between them? Unbelievable. You CIA pukes are all alike. I'll talk to you on the ground. Don't let us down, Larkin. Don't you dare let him down, either."

He heard Casey muttering before disconnecting. "I'll kill her if she's hurt him again."

Bryce shouted into the phone to get Casey's attention. "God damn it, they were _married_, Casey, they were married and Beckman scrubbed their brains and left them without any memories of each other, just the damned job. And she fell in love with him all over again and that's why she left after he was shot, you fucking Neanderthal. They were _married_!"

He disconnected the call. He'd deal with this shit latter.

Bryce sighed and began calling his contacts and organizing a convoy to pick up Team Bartowski at the airport. They'd assemble here and then sort things out. It would be good for them to see 'the Boss' and know that he was OK. After that they'd all just play it by ear and concentrate on the mission at hand. Personal agendas would have to wait until less complicated times.

* * *

John Casey almost lost control of the aircraft when he heard Larkin scream into the phone "…they were married…" Beckman was due for a lot of pain from a lot of people.

* * *

"Shhh, baby, it's OK, don't cry, Chuck. I know it's hard, I know how you feel, we both got screwed over, but baby, I left you in order to come back to you, free from the CIA. I tried to tell you but you put me off out there in the desert and later, well, things went to hell and I need to tell you some things, without interruption, please?" She couldn't see his face but felt him nod. She held him tighter, willing him to listen with his heart and to understand and forgive her.

For the next hour she sat and told Chuck everything she could remember from the very beginning when she fell in love with him again. She knew it was a familiar feeling and that things they said, they'd said before but it wasn't until he was shot and she told him she loved him and felt the searing pain that she suspected the truth. And so she formulated her plan, faulty as it was, and acted on it. She'd have to do things that she knew he would find reprehensible but it was necessary for her freedom and ultimately, his.

"Well, Chuck, that's it. The whole 11 months and 18 miserable days of my 'life without Chuck'. Can you forgive me? Can we start over, maybe get married again and just put this all behind us? It wasn't our fault to begin with, but it was my fault not to have told you something, given you something to hold on to but I was afraid you wouldn't be 'sincere' and Beckman and her cronies would brain-scrub us again and separate us, forever. Can you please find it in your heart to forgive me for all the crap I've put you through? Please, Chuck?"

"I'll never get married again, Sarah. Never. That's not in the cards." He got up and shambled towards the door of the suite suddenly feeling like an old man. She looked down at the floor, her world suddenly shattered in a thousand pieces. "I'm already married, Sarah," he said so quietly that she had to strain to hear him. And he held out his hand to her and said, "coming for that walk, Mrs. Bartowski?"

She looked up and smiled that special "just for Chuck" smile and fairly skipped to the door, feeling years younger than when she'd found him in the desert.

* * *

Casey brought the C-130 straight in and taxied to the apron near the main terminal where he could see Bryce Larkin standing with a group of Somalis and a rag tag assortment of vehicles. He shook his head. The last time he was in Somalia there had been .50cal machine guns on those pickups and the rag heads had been shooting at him.

Cutting the engines and lowering the ramp he pulled the 6-pack from the master electrical control box effectively grounding the aircraft. He didn't want to have to leave a security detail to guard the bird. He hoped Bryce had detailed some locals for the task or anything not welded to the frame would be gone when they returned.

He secured the aircraft as best he could and had chocks and tie-downs laid on and secured. His team was assembled at the rear of the aircraft and he raised the rear ramp and joined them.

"Hey, Casey, this everyone?" He signaled to one of the Somalis who rustled up a detail and began loading the crates and cases into the various vehicles.

"Yeah, all nine of us. What's the status with the Boss and Pole Dancer, Bryce? I mean, shit, she comes down here to get engaged and cover his ass and she ends up comatose and he finds out he's married to Walker? You got a lot of explaining to do. I know it's not your fault, but damn, Larkin, what kind of clusterfuck is this?"

"Hey! I wasn't the one who invoked the Omega Protocols, Major Casey. You did. All I did was follow my orders. Sarah wanted to overdose Chuck with Demerol when he was in the worst of it but I stopped her and almost got shot for the trouble. Then Webb goes nuts and tries to kill Chuck. I mean how screwed up is that?"

"Once he was free of the Syndrome he cleared Sarah's block and somehow the Syndrome cleared his and –and- and- Webb tried to kill Chuck, Casey. The man she supposedly loved and was going to marry. What has Beckman done to us?"

"How is he, really, Bryce? Mission capable? Can he still run things?"

"Better than any of us could. Let me tell you something about my friend. He's not the same. You should have seen him in the desert. I thought he was a Ghost. He was so, I don't know, professional and, man, he had us cold in a one-man ambush and he was so cold. Not like I remembered him. Not like I knew him. And he knows things, Casey, like he knew Webb would try to kill him and he let her set him up."

"Where is he now and what's Webb's status?" Bryce was rambling and that was not a good sign. A rattled experienced agent was never a good sign, not one with the experience and record Larkin had. No matter what he thought of him personally, he did the job.

"Chuck shot her up with Demerol and he and Sarah were talking when I left to come out here. They were married and somehow Beckman brainwashed them and they forgot each other. She put in false memories and set them up. Then she set Walker up to leave and send the perfect woman to be her replacement. Man, how screwed is that? Chuck was upset that he'd forgotten his wife, really upset. He's still weak from the Judas Syndrome and Sarah's with him. I don't know if he can take much more, Casey. He's not God, just a man like you or me. And Beckman set Carrie up to be his Terminating Agent. How fucked is that?"

"OK, Bryce, we need to get into Bosala and get with the Boss and get organized. When you have time to really think this through I'll want an orderly report, Agent, not some rambling saga, understand? Pull yourself together and get it done. I have to know that Chuck is really mission-capable or we're all dead. Leave a couple of your guys here to secure the bird. I don't want to have to fly out of here with missing engines, understand?"

* * *

Chuck was walking through the garden holding Sarah's hand and looking for a shady spot to just sit. He didn't want to leave Carrie alone for too long. He hated seeing her like that but he didn't have a choice in the matter. She could not be trusted and was now a liability, a piece of living equipment that could not be abandoned when the shit hit the fan.

"Sarah, if you had to evac a team member from a hostile environment and you had zero options for outside support, how would you do that?"

She looked at him sadly, knowing what he was wrestling with. "Sometimes you can't save them all, my love; sometimes they become 'acceptable losses' to the suits but lost friends and colleagues to us. Agent Webb, no, Carrie, is dead weight, Chuck. The only thing I can think of is to put her on a flight to Rome as a 'medical casualty' and keep her drugged to the eyeballs and let the people at the embassy take care of her."

Chuck snorted. "You mean let one of Beckman's trolls kill her and sweep the carcass under the 'national security' rug, don't you? Well, she is, was, my partner and I won't abandon her anymore than I could abandon you. Especially not you, Sarah, ever. No matter what the circumstances may be, I will never leave you. Never. Fuck the greater good. You are my greater good."

Sarah Bartowski felt her heart break for her husband. She knew he would never abandon one of his own, not even if it meant mission failure. It was one of the things she loved about him and pitied him for at the same time. He loved his friends, family and teammates more than himself and would never hesitate to sacrifice himself for one of them rather than leave them behind. She sighed and shook her head. He had so much faith in others and she was afraid that faith would be his undoing. He simply trusted too much.

Their pace had been steadily slowing as the meandered through the garden and now he just stopped walking and stared off across the landscape.

"You know, I think we're going to lose this one, Sarah. We're all too damned tired and there are only three of us. I don't believe in 'last stands' or 'forlorn hopes'. There has to be a way to get this done without committing suicide and I'm just too damned tired to think of one. Let's go back and catch an hour's nap. This has already been a damned long day."

He looked over and smiled at her, a shy smile, almost one of chagrin. "Yeah, a nap would be good and maybe you could tell me how you did it, Chuck. And what you meant about the intersect not being a burden any longer. A shower and a nap are just what we both need. Maybe it will clear the cobwebs. And besides, we need to check on our girl. She's important to you so now she's important to me. And you forgot. Your team is on the way here, Boss, so it's not just us three. But it will always be just you and me, Chuck Bartowski, always and forever, you and me."

"Knock off the 'Boss' crap, will ya, Sarah? I get enough of that shit from Casey and the unit. 'The Boss said this and the Boss said that… ' Big deal. I'm not the Boss, I'm the asset although now I think Beckman promoted me for this mission to Agent-in-Charge, for all the good it'll do"

Sarah looked at her husband out of the corner of her eye. '_He has no earthly idea what he does and how he does it __**makes**__ him the Boss. And that's another part of his killer charm. He's so unassuming, so naïve, after all this time, he's maintained some semblance of innocence. I'm so glad.'_

"Sarah, I'm sorry to snap at you, but I'm tired and cranky and have a killer headache and that nap sounds so inviting I'm tempted to crawl under that bush and just conk out. So move those beautiful buns of yours and let's please get horizontal before I have a stroke or something equally disgusting. With my luck that's on Fate's agenda for me."

* * *

The convoy pulled into the parking garage and Casey laughed outright. Bryce looked at him and asked, "What in the world is so funny that stone-faced Casey laughed?"

"When Chuck talked about walking in from the desert to your 'hide site' he made a comment about how inappropriate it would have been and now I can see what he meant. This is a 'hide' site? The best hotel in Bosala?"

"It went with our cover and yeah, it would have been totally inappropriate. But he found us and it doesn't matter now. Sarah and Carrie took pictures of the compound and picked up some shipping manifests we haven't had time to go over. That was when the Judas Syndrome attacked Chuck. Makes me wonder who named it. It betrayed all the liars and their work, Casey. Maybe Judas wasn't the right handle at all because it only betrayed the betrayers."

* * *

Chuck went immediately to check on Carrie once they got to the suite. Sarah went in and stripped the sheets off the bed, got clean ones from housekeeping and remade the bed.

She didn't want him sleeping where she and Bryce had slept. There was just something wrong with that. She knew deep down that it was guilt for having had sex with Bryce while trying to execute her plan to leave the CIA. She would forever carry that burden of shame. Even if she didn't know she was married, she still felt ashamed because she hadn't considered 'personal needs' when formulating her plan.

"Well, she's still out cold and I don't think she'll be coming around anytime soon, not on top of the earlier shot when I stapled her up. Now, please, can I just hold you, nothing else, Sarah, not here, that's for damned sure, and sleep? Please. I feel like shit all of a sudden."

He finished stripping off all his clothes and slipped between the fresh sheets. She mirrored his actions and slipped into bed and pulled him in close to her, putting a leg between his and wrapping her arms around him and holding him, just enjoying his presence. They were both asleep within 30 seconds of one another.

* * *

The suite had a full kitchen, never used by either of the CIA agents, and Rivera was busy making the team something to eat from the supplies he got earlier. No one wanted to eat MREs if anything else was available. After changing into civvies and taking up a collection, Rivera had gone down to the local market place and haggled, bargained, threatened and cajoled and ended up with food for 8 for 10 days. His mother would have been proud.

The team was quiet, whether to avoid waking the Boss or simply to avoid waking the Boss and watching him painfully explain the situation wasn't clear. No one understood it but no one was sure they wanted to. Every one of them was a little bit in love with Pole Dancer and was shocked when Major Casey briefed them on the situation. Nothing was discussed between them but they all had the same thought: how would the Boss handle this and how would it affect the mission?

* * *

Sarah woke first, surprised and pleased to see her husband. She had been afraid it was all a dream. She took the opportunity to study his face. He had new lines around his mouth and she knew they weren't from smiling. He also had the beginnings of crowsfeet at the corners of his eyes and she was utterly dismayed to see that there was a few gray hairs along his temples. Eleven months and nineteen days had taken a toll on her husband. She wanted to make it up to him in so many ways.

She got out of bed and took a quick shower and dressed in shorts and a tank top. The day was going to be hot and they'd probably spend most of it reconning the pirate compound. She leaned down and kissed Chuck and he murmured 'Carrie, not yet, please', and her heart broke a little before she straighted up and thought 'I guess not everything is back to the way it was. I'll just have to get used to the occasional lapses. His feelings were real for her, Carrie's were false and I had selected her unknowingly as a result of the influence of the conditioning. God, how I hate Diane Beckman. She stole a year from us and we have no way of getting it back.'

"Chuck, c'mon, honey, it's Sarah, please wake up. Your team's here and they need to see that you're still the Boss. Let's go, Chuck." She was speaking softly into his ear and didn't see the eye closest to the sheets open and the smile creep across his face. "Well, tell them I'm still me and if they know what's good for them they'll leave us the hell alone for a bit. I haven't seen you, Sarah, as my wife, in forever. And look at you! You got dressed! How unromantic is that? I mean it's been forever since we made…"

The rest was lost in a soul searing kiss and for a few seconds all was right with Chuck's world.

"A down payment. Now get up, shower and get dressed. I'll go see what I can scrounge up for you to eat. You've lost weight and I don't like my husband's ribs poking me."

EndDeadBefore14


	15. Mending Hearts, Heart Attacks, Plans

DeadBefore15

_A/N: This is a tie-up chapter. Probably 2 - 3 more. Haven't been motivated to write much so delays are my problem. Usual BS about not owning them. _

* * *

_  
_

The team's chatter dropped off when Sarah walked out of the bedroom. She walked regally over to Casey and stopped and tilted her head and said very quietly "He's in the shower. He's going to be OK and yes, it's complicated."

"I promise you that I won't hurt him or allow anyone else to hurt him. My word. But also, understand, John, we _are _married, in the eyes of God and in law. He's my husband despite what that rancid bitch has done to us. And he remembers it all – and it's tearing him up inside. He loves two women, his wife he was forced to forget and his almost-fiancé he was programmed to love. Please, cut him some slack, John."

Casey exhaled heavily, looked down and ran his hand through his hair, a sure sign he was facing a major decision. Then he looked at her and said even more quietly than she'd spoken to him, "I'll help you bring down the General. It's the least I can do for you and them. How could a human being do that to another? I got your back, partner, but Pole Dan… I mean Agent Webb, she's grown on all of us so don't expect to be greeted warmly by the team. Give them time, Sarah. It's a huge adjustment to make."

"I wouldn't expect anything else, Casey. Thanks. Now, I have to feed him. He's lost so much weight and… and…" She couldn't go on, just looked at her feet and then walked into the kitchen. Rivera greeted her civilly and asked if he could help whip up something for the Boss. Waffles, most likely.  


* * *

Chuck walked out of the bedroom dressed in jeans and a polo shirt still drying his hair. He'd deliberately done the 'casual' approach since he felt there was enough tension on the team to begin with and he still felt like road kill and had so many issues to deal with.

'_Issues are discussion items, fool. These are problems and you fix problems. Carrie's a problem you need to fix. You know what you'll have to do. You can't let these others down. You have to look out for them. They trust you to do the right thing, pull a rabbit out of the hat. They all came here, throwing away their careers and lives to help you. Don't let them down. You know what has to be done. Now, do it. You can end it all later but this can't be avoided. Sarah was right and you know it. You love two women and it's not your fault but it is your problem to fix.'_

'_Now, man up, Bartowski, man up and fix it.'_

He was astonished when all the team members got to their feet and came to attention. Even Casey stood, although he would not go so far as the position of attention since he was a by-God Colonel.

Sarah saw this show of respect and once again wondered what she'd missed in the past eleven months. Nothing like this seemed possible with the 'Chuck' she'd left behind. Now the man who'd ambushed them in the desert was worthy of such respect although he'd never ask for or be comfortable with it.

"Knock it off, chuckleheads. I've already had a long day. Here's the straight shit on what's happened so far…" The micro briefing lasted 20 minutes with frequent questions and detailed answers but the most common answer was "I don't know."

"Agent Webb is down and will not be anything other than sedated for the duration of the mission. There are things going on, things in contention, that have threatened the mission, have disrupted the core organization and have left us out here in the boonies with a thankless job and little to use to accomplish our mission. But we will accomplish our mission and return to Rome – just like fucking Julius Caesar. Veni, vidi, vici. I came, I saw, I conquered. The rest is just small stuff."

"We'll have another one of these after we get out collective heads out of our asses, probably after Rivera gets done making some unpronounceable but delicious culinary repast. So take it easy and chill for a bit."  


* * *

Chuck and Casey sat out on the balcony overlooking the city drinking coffee after eating breakfast. Off in the distance they heard a helicopter's whap-whap-whap and looked at each other and grinned.

Within a few minutes the helicopter had flown almost directly over their heads. It was a Hind, the NATO designation for the Soviet attack helicopter designed to be the equivalent of the Apache.

"Can you fly that, Colonel?" Chuck knew he couldn't, not even with the extensive abilities developed from years of playing Flight Simulator. Not for an operation of this complexity.

"Yeah. And it carries 8 troops in addition to being a kick-ass AH. Let's see those pictures Sarah took and then see if satellite photos can help us. I'll bet it's based at the civilian airport we landed at. Convenient for getting in, and more importantly, getting out again."

"Like I said, Boss, it depends on the armament load out on the Hind. If it's got a full A/T load then it's cake. If not, then we take out the roof guards, fast rope a squad to take the building top to bottom leaving the spies and a handful of the team to keep the pirates in the building."

"I don't like sending in a small group to take out the rag heads inside. We don't know the layout and we really have no idea of their armament. Not going to happen, Colonel-designate. We send in the full team with the spies and I holding down the egress routes. Hell, there are only two ways out, Casey. We can bottle them up and use grenades or even gas to take them out and kill the King."

"Chuck, what happens if they all just rush you? What happens if we get hung up inside and a bunch of them make it out to their transportation? You three are going to be overrun and we'll have failed the mission. Nope, that won't fly either."

Chuck stood up straight, cursing his cramping muscles, and looked out at the African city where it all might end.

"John, I'll ask you the same thing I asked Sarah. If you were in our situation, cut off without external support, and had a team mate with a critical medical condition, what would you do?"

Casey felt a twinge of conscience but knew he had to give the textbook answer to his friend.

"Chuck, sometimes things go bad and they sure have here. Sometimes there's no right action, just the one required to ensure that the mission doesn't fail. 'No one left behind' is a romantic notion that sadly can't fit into our world. I assume we're talking about Pol - Agent Webb?"

He nodded, not really trusting himself to speak. His heart was so torn up that he was sure the pain he felt was physical not just mental. Rubbing his chest, he felt the pressure build up until he was certain it would burst from his chest and splatter bloody gore all over the place. He suddenly couldn't breathe and his vision was graying out with little sparkling flashy bolts of light streaking across his view. Panic attack? Coronary? Didn't matter which because the pain…

"Chuck, you're a good man, a decent and caring human being and you got the short end of the stick so far, really short, but you have to set aside personal feelings in this case and weigh the lives of 12 people against one, your team and yourself against the life of…"

Casey looked over to see if any of this was making an impact on Chuck. He hated these moments when he had to be brutally honest with his friend. He saw Chuck swaying and clutching his chest and caught him as he went down. His eyes were wild looking and he was clawing at his chest and panting. Casey feared a heart attack after the stress of the Judas Syndrome attack and called out for assistance.

"Agent down, possible coronary. Take it easy, Boss, just try and calm down and breathe. We'll figure something out, Chuck. We won't leave her behind, I promise you, do you hear me, Chuck? Chuck? Chuck?"

_'You can't save them all…weigh the lives of 12 people against one…you can't save them all...dead weight, useless...and you fix problems. Carrie's a problem you need to fix. You know what you'll have to do. You can't let these others down. You have to look out for them. They trust you. You know what has to be done…end it all later…can't be avoided. Sarah was right and you know it.'  


* * *

_

"Agent Bartowski, he's been burning the emotional candle at both ends and today it all caught up with him. I think it was just a panic attack. At least I think so. I'm not a doctor, just the team medic. I don't hear any irregular heart sounds, and he's just gone to sleep and that supports my judgment. If it _were_ a heart attack, he wouldn't be sleeping, he'd be unconscious or awake."

"I gave him a light, very light, sedative so he should stay asleep for at least 4 hours. He needs it. But we need him, so 4 hours is about all Maj – er – Colonel Casey would allow."

Sarah thanked the medic and looked at her sleeping husband. Besides the weight loss, his face had aged and as she'd discovered earlier, his hair was graying at the temples. Stress, emotional pain – even subconscious – could kill a person. Another reason to finish up this mess and get back to civilization and competent medical care.

She stroked the back of his hand and pulled hers from his grasp. His arm flailed around until it struck hers and his hand grasped her wrist in a crushing grip until his hand slid down and found hers and held it – gently.

Even unconscious he sought her out. What did that say about his feelings? He'd counted the days, and knowing him, probably had a mental 'expired time' clock displayed in his brain somewhere with minutes and seconds. Well, he could reset it to zero and throw it away. She wasn't leaving him again, knowingly or otherwise.

She toed off her sandals and lay down beside him just watching him breathe and wishing for the billionth time that things could have been different, that Beckman hadn't found them out, that she'd fought harder to keep them safe. She cried herself to sleep, quietly, soaking his shirt with her tears but damned glad they were together again to do it.  


* * *

Chuck was running scenarios for the assault on the Pirate King's seaside villa, compound, collection of sticks and mud, what ever you wanted to call it. No matter how he ran it in his mind he always came up with casualties, sometimes-outright failure with 100% casualties. Unacceptable. He needed fresh perspective and so he turned his mind off the one problem and on to another. What to do with Agent Cassie Webb.

If they left her behind at the hotel and failed, she'd be captured, tortured, paraded around through the streets and then beheaded – if she were lucky. If they took her along, she'd be dead weight and in the way. If he simply injected her with their remaining stock of Demerol she'd pass away quietly and unknowingly. He'd considered another option but dismissed it out of hand until he'd had a random thought that blossomed into an idea.

Quietly, he separated himself from his wife's embrace and walked out of the bedroom into the living room area. He nodded to a couple of the team who were still awake and then stepped carefully over the strikers sleeping sprawled out all over the furniture and carpet and walked back to the remaining bedroom.

He dug through Carrie's luggage until he found her cell phone. Looking at his watch and doing a quick calculation he looked at her speed dial until he found the number he wanted and dialed it.

"Beckman, secure. Have you terminated the intersect host, Agent Webb? Is Bartowski dead?"

"Bartowski, secure. Nope. Not dead. But probably will be soon and won't you be pleased?" He listened to her 3 seconds of silence then her sputtering and finally her response.

"You survived the Syndrome, Bartowski? Wonderful, Chuck. You and Agent Webb will have such a future together. Now, the mission…"

"Please, General Beckman, don't patronize me. You set her up and then pre-positioned her mentally to seduce me. Well, it worked, General. I fell hopelessly in love with her openness and innocence but you knew that already since you'd piggy-backed those little subliminals into the refresher download 4 months ago."

"You knew it was just a matter of time before the Syndrome struck and you'd loaded the dice in anticipation. Well, guess what, General?" He waited. And waited.

"Bartowski, are you still there?" She sounded panicky, something he didn't expect from her.

"Yes, General, I'm still here."

"Well, what? I'm really busy here…"

"Yes, I'll bet you are. Busy as a cat in a stainless steel litter box trying to cover its shit. Busy, busy, busy. Webb is down and I'm sending her home. Do not fuck with her, General. Your welfare is linked to hers. If she dies, well, exhumation orders are in the queue already, General. All my predecessors. And if justice doesn't work, there's always the usual way. A car bomb, a sniper, a heart attack, a seafood salad gone bad. You get the idea."

"Do you know who you're talking to? I'm…"

"Do you know _**what**_ _you're_ talking to, General? I'd keep a civil tongue in my head if I were you. I'm aware, General. The intersect is me now. Truly, a blend of man and…program? It doesn't really matter. It's all in my head now, including the early files. All those names, dates and places. Your agency may soon cease to exist, General, and you don't want that now, do you? Prison would not be kind to you, Diane, not at all, assuming you escaped the needle for treason and murder."

"Now, we'll work together and no one has to be the wiser, General. You get to keep what you have and I get to do what I want. And I want Webb taken care of as if she were your own daughter, understand?"

"Yes, I understand. We'll work together, sharing information and materiel, and we'll accomplish a great deal together."

"See, playing nice doesn't hurt one bit. And you can keep all the glory for yourself. All I want is a nice playground and anything I need to accomplish the missions, agreed? Oh, and hands off the minds of the employees, Diane. You won't like the consequences one bit."

He hung up, shaking and wondering if it had really been that simple? He wouldn't trust her, of course, but Carrie would be the first in a series of tests. He'd weighed one against twelve…and one won. He owed her. Now if this damned pain in his chest would just go away for a while.

He found Bryce sacked out on the loveseat and rousted him out. "Bryce, c'mon, dude, I need your help. Wake up, dickhead, I need your help."

He explained quietly what he'd done and that he needed his help getting Carrie to the airport. Beckman would send a plane for her and had promised she'd get excellent care.

"Jesus, Chuck, you didn't believe her, did you?" He couldn't believe how naïve his friend could be sometimes.

"No. She knows if Carrie dies or is in anyway harmed…she's toast. I explained the consequences and she caved. Typical bureaucrat, all bluster, no balls. So, you going to help me get her to the Consulate?"  


* * *

They were less than a mile from the Consulate when Bryce's phone rang. It was Sarah.

"Yeah, he's with me. Someone had to hold the body." He grinned at Chuck and said in Klingon, '_Your mate has threatened to geld me, Companion. Speak with her so that I may sleep in comfort this night.'_ They both laughed like old times.

"Hey, wife, you shouldn't threatened the man when he's driving your husband and his ex-fiancé and lover to destinations unknown. Seriously, Sarah, I'll be back in an hour, maybe two at the most. I'm doing what has to be done, sweetheart, I'm doing what you suggested. I'm sending her home. And I'll be back in your clutches where I belong shortly. I love only you, babe, so chill out. Everything is going to be fine. You'll see."

Sarah was not pleased. He'd left without her and he hadn't told anyone where he was going. All he'd told the striker on guard was that he and Bryce were taking Webb home. She'd freaked out when she'd heard that thinking he'd decided on Carrie after all and was somehow leaving Somalia. She'd called Bryce and neither of them was very forthcoming but Chuck's last few sentences calmed her down and warmed her up at the same time.

Sighing, she rolled out of their bed, cleaned herself up and wandered back out to the living room to scrounge up something else to eat and see if anything else had been done while he let her sleep.

They _would_ have a long discussion about him leaving her behind.  


* * *

**US Consulate  
Bosala, Somalia**

The Consul General himself and the consulate physician were waiting for them when they arrived. Beckman had seen to that. Carrie was placed in the dispensary and would remain sedated until the special charter arrived in 10 hours to take her to Rome for treatment.

Part of the conditions had been met. If she was still alive when they got back to Rome than he'd reevaluate the situation and deal with Beckman as required. He still had an Ace and a Joker up his sleeve but he didn't want to play the Joker unless Sarah's life depended on it. He wasn't sure he could live with the outcome even if she did.  


* * *

Chuck fell asleep on the ride back to the hotel. His chest was aching and he wondered again if he'd had a coronary. The stress of the seizures when the Syndrome struck had to have taken a toll on him, more so because his mental health was already reeling from recent events as well as the unscheduled stroll in the Somali desert trying to locate the CIA pick up team.

Bryce looked over at his friend and noticed how much he'd changed since the last time he'd seen him and how he'd aged 10 years since they'd met again in the desert. This afternoon's scare had shaken up the team. No one wanted to admit it but if Chuck weren't around the team's morale would crater and the attack would fail. The issues with Webb and Walker hadn't done much to calm things down either. Tensions ran high. It wasn't just the military situation that was at risk but the cultural status of the assault team. Without the 'Boss' they were just another bunch of wild-assed NSA operatives but with him they were Team Intersect of the Citadel.

He made a promise to discuss all this with Casey and Sarah while Chuck caught up on his sleep. There were things to be done to ensure the physical and mental well being of their leader, whether he recognized the need or not.

He called Sarah when they were about 10 minutes from the hotel and asked her to meet them at the Land Rover. He had a feeling he'd need help getting Chuck back to the room alone but that with Sarah cajoling him, Chuck could probably make it on his own.

"Walker, secure."

"Larkin here, Mrs. Bartowski, I need a hand with Chuck, Sarah. Nothing's wrong but he's been asleep since the minute we left the consulate compound. I'd feel better if you were down there to meet us."

"Will do, Bryce, and thanks for the reminder. Thanks for everything in case I forget to thank you properly." She blushed because 6 months ago that would have implied sex, now it just was a hug and a thank you.

End15


	16. More Plans & the Long Walk in the Woods

_A/N: Probably 2 more chapters. I thought I'd be farther along but I felt I owed you guys a further explanation for what happened and how it all came about. All things considered I've got a self-imposed deadline for this one and the other old one also. Patience. Blood & guts next time then some nice slow sex on the beach...NOT._

_Armor-Plated-Rat  


* * *

_

**Hotel Juba****  
Suite of Kings**

Sarah got off the elevator just as Bryce was pulling into the parking garage. She opened Chuck's door and helped him out and with Bryce's help got him up to the suite. He was awake but little else. Whatever he said was lost in the efforts to carry, drag, walk him up to the suite.

A couple of strikers carried Chuck into the room he and Carrie shared despite her directions to take him to the other room. She grimaced when she saw them put him down on the bed and he rolled over and cast his arm about looking for…her or Carrie? She saw Carrie's cell phone and checked the last number dialed and date…Beckman today!

Now she knew for certain that he'd made a deal with the devil but at what price to him? She cringed when she imagined the bargain the Bitch would drive for the safe 'storage' of Agent Webb, and the safety of the team and herself.

'_Damn you, Chuck Bartowski, why will you never learn that you can't dance with the Devil and still keep your soul?'_

She sat down beside him and ran her fingers through his hair and then kissed his cheek before leaving to see what Casey and Chuck had cooked up this morning before 'the incident'.  


* * *

Casey and Sarah sat on the balcony discussing the initial plans Chuck and Casey had made. Stealing the chopper would require a recon and Casey had sent Bryce out with 2 strikers in civilian clothes to eyeball the airport and report back on the helicopter and any security for it. They didn't expect him back for a few hours. They had to be very circumspect plus Casey had asked that the two strikers check out the FedEx C-130 to ensure it was still intact.

They'd agreed that once the Hind was in their 'possession' it would be flown out to the abandoned village out in the desert that she and Bryce had 'found' when they were lost and looking for Chuck. Sarah would drive out with a land rover and security and use a GPS beacon to direct the Hind to the site and then bring the 'thieves' back to the hotel. Depending on the load out of the chopper, they'd finalize their plan to take out the Pirate King's compound and then fly back to Rome.

"I can't believe he called her and negotiated a deal for Carrie. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad he did it. It's one less thing for all of us to worry about. But I worry about what kind of price he's had to pay for her safety?"

"Yeah, I've been wondering the same thing. He's so naïve sometimes, John. He still doesn't see the evil in people. You'd think he'd have figured out Beckman a long time ago."

"Give him a break, Sarah. Beckman's been like a mother hen around Chuck since…well, since we got the green light for the Citadel and he capped the new Station Chief."

"What? He did what?" She couldn't believe what she'd just heard. Chuck had killed someone in cold blood? Not her Chuck…he was good, and gentle and loving.

"Well, the new chief came in and right away started on Chuck with 24/7 'company' and no movement and possible detention. That went over like a fart in church and Chuck just 'read' the guy's resume and ended with 'recruited by Fulcrum' and blew his head off. Then he read Beckman the riot act about _her_ internal security and that the next Chief better be squeaky clean or they'd have to paint the damned wall again."

"Webb tried to resign. Chuck scared the crap out of her. One minute the nice bumbling asset who could make her laugh and feel at ease and brought her clothes when she was naked on missions and the next minute there was this stone cold killer who just appeared without provocation. That's when Beckman started to take notice that the profiler/handler was a possible weak link. Then came the naked Carrie attack that left Chuck's head looking like a melon and then, well, she 'handled' him. Somehow they got over her fear and his reluctance and they just meshed. Beckman practically drooled over his performance and gave them carte blanc to pursue things."

He saw Sarah's pensive look and touched her shoulder. "Hey, she screwed with your brains, he had no idea 'what' you were, just that you'd left without even a 'screw you, Bartowski' after he'd heard your declaration of love. He took it hard until he got your hand-picked replacement and then he just grew into the man he is today. She was good for him, Sarah, and she brought out the best in him. You'd have done the same but it would have taken a lot longer, and you know that. She didn't intimidate him like you did. She didn't blow hot and cold on him. I'm sorry, but it's how it was."

"But if it makes things any easier on you, I think Beckman's mind scrubber got him again when he was in the hospital after the Treasure Island affair. When he regained consciousness a few days later it was like you mattered less each day. I thought something was off but wrote it off to him just maturing and not going all mushy over your departure. The only time he cracked was when he'd found a reference in the daily to you and Larkin in Rome together. After that, well, it got interesting."

Sarah stood up and looked out over the balcony. God, how she'd screwed things up so badly with her 'plan', how she'd left him high and dry and so vulnerable.

"I – I need some time to think this all out, John. Do you think he's sorry about releasing the mind blocks? Do you think he's sorry he's stuck with me instead of her? It doesn't seem to have taken much nudging for him to have gotten over me and into her bed… I – I don't mean that, I mean, oh, hell, I don't know what I mean. Or if I mean anything to him any more."

"Sarah, wait, you don't understand how it was, Sarah…" Damn that woman. She totally misunderstood what I meant. Damn Diane Beckman to hell for what she'd done to those three.

* * *

Sarah walked to the doors of the suite and out into the hallway. Her vision blurred with tears and she made her way to the elevator and eventually to the bench in the garden. Too much information in too short a time. Did he really want her or Carrie? Or was he just doing the 'right' thing and honoring those vows they'd both taken so long ago in Las Vegas? Damn him for doing the 'right thing' and leaving her so much in doubt.  


* * *

Casey knew he'd screwed up with his recitation of the 'Chuck & Carrie Story' when Sarah had gotten up, teary eyed, and left the suite. He also knew only one person could make it all better…

"Chuck, hey, Chuck, Sarah needs you, Chuck. She's in trouble and…" he shook him by the shoulder. Suddenly he was looking down the barrel of a .45 M1911 pistol.

"Whoa, it's me, Casey. Sarah is down in the garden. You two need to talk, man, she's rattled and all confused after hearing about you and Webb and Beckman. I'm sorry, it's my fault but she asked."

"Um, what exactly did you say, Major?" Casey caught the slip but wrote it off to the way he'd been awakened but the tone said something totally different.

"She asked me how you could be so naïve as to trust Beckman with Carrie and she wondered just what you had to give up or what price you had to pay to keep us all safe. I told her the history and she kind of freaked out, wondering if you were honoring your wedding vows out of obligation, that you were 'stuck' with her when you really loved Carrie. Then she ran out of the suite but I had a striker follow her and she's in the garden and he's watching out for her. Get down there and fix this, Chuck."

"You made it a problem, John, so why don't you go fix it? Damn, I do not need all this frikkin' drama in my life. Webb's history. It was all a sham. I can't change what happened and I can't just instantly start loving her again and not loving Carrie. I'm only human, John, and it's probably only a short-term problem anyway. Those two can fight over the body. Get out of here and let me get dressed."

'Uh-oh, someone's not thinking straight. Fight over the body?'

"Chuck, you feeling all right? Do you know where you are?" He had a nagging suspicion that his boss was little disoriented and the last thing he needed was to sic a disoriented Chuck on an upset Sarah. The very last thing.

"Bosala, Somalia, ass end of planet Earth. We have a mission to plan. Webb's on her way to Rome and Beckman's on her way to jail if she screws with Webb or us again. Is that sufficient information for you? Or do you need a diagram? Jesus, give me some room, Casey, some privacy here? I'll take care of Walker, just give me a minute of peace." The tone was strident and the volume increased as the sentences went on until he was almost yelling.

"Walker? Christ, Chuck, she's your wife. Don't you think…"

"Think? _Think? _That's about all I do is think. I think, therefore I am. I think this whole place sucks. I think I'm so damned tired I don't care anymore. I think I need a vacation. I think, no, I know, I'm so tired of all of this. The intersect, this job, these people, this existence. And, now I have to go calm down the woman who abandoned me, remind her we're married, and just forget about everything that's happened to me in the past 11 months and 19 days. Oh, yeah, I think about that a lot, Major, now get out and let me get dressed!" The last was shouted.

Casey stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door and walking out of the suite. He needed to blow off steam or he'd seriously hurt someone, probably one Chuck Bartowski. Still, he was bothered by the show of temper, the almost uncontrolled rage he could see lurking just below the surface of Chuck's eyes. And the slip about his rank. Whether he liked it or not, he needed advice and the only person here who could give it was the person he'd driven off in tears.

* * *

Sarah Bartowski sat under the large fig tree wondering whether she should just ask him if he wanted a divorce or an annulment. This whole situation sucked and she knew it was her own damned fault. She also had to acknowledge that she'd selected her 'replacement' herself, following only the strong 'suggestion' to do so by her conditioning. She'd picked an innocent woman with an open view of the world and none of the crappy experiences to lug around as baggage like she did.

"Sarah, we have a problem with Chuck. There's something wrong with him. He's not acting like himself. He's throwing a damned tantrum like a little kid. I woke him up to come talk to you and try to answer some of the questions I've made you ask yourself and he screamed at me to get out and give him some privacy. The situation deteriorated from there. We need to talk to him. Something's not right with this. He calls you 'Walker' and me 'Major' and he rambles through this raging monologue. Sarah, something's wrong with him."

"Let's go. It might be the after effects of the Syndrome or something else. He's tired, Casey, so tired. I can see it in his eyes. He's emotionally wrung out and he's physically exhausted. You weren't here for the Syndrome. I was going to kill him to stop his pain, Casey, only Bryce stopped me. I was going to murder him because I was his friend and I loved him. What does that say about me, Casey?"

"It says you're human, Sarah, and that you still can feel."  


* * *

Chuck was walking around the bedroom mumbling about Fulcrum, the Pirate King, casualties and escape plans. Part of him was extremely tired and part of him, the controlling part, was using the intersect to find a solution to their problem without any success.

The pain in his chest was back and so was the killer head ache but he ignored them just like he ignored the sweat pouring off his body, concentrating instead on the nagging feeling that unless he pulled the rabbit out of the hat, his wife, his friends and his team were going to die. It was all he could think about and his imagination provided fuel. His beloved Sarah dead, covered with blood and being dragged through the streets while he and his surviving team were beheaded as 'invaders'.

He still had the .45 M1911 in his hand and he waved it about as he berated himself for constantly failing to find a viable solution. He'd reviewed hundreds of after-action reports stored in the intersect's archives for the past 20 years and nothing fit either their situation or available resources. He was frantic with worry and it was only getting worse.

Sarah knocked at the door and then entered. The lights were off and only the light in the bathroom provided any illumination other than the faint rays of sunlight that made it past the heavy draperies.

"Chuck? Chuck, are you awake, sweetheart?" She didn't see him in the dark and her eyes hadn't adjusted to the dim yet.

"Walker, what do you want? I don't have time to discuss your plans right now. I have to find a way to keep my wife alive. We were married, you know, in secret, but that damned harpy General found out and took her away from me and made her forget me and I forgot her. And I need her back. She's been gone so long and I miss her so much."

In a severe tone he raised his head and looked at her for the first time since she entered the room.

"Satisfied, Agent Walker? You've got your answer and Beckman will give you a gold star I'm sure. Now be a good little agent and run along. Go play with Bryce or something. Go traipse around Mt. Vesuvius with him. I have to save Sarah and you're just not that important to me right now, Agent."

Sarah was thrilled and appalled. How did he know about Bryce and the weekend at Mr. Vesuvius? What else did he know? Was this a psychotic breakdown or some remaining stage of the syndrome? She had to know.

"Chuck, it's Sarah Bartowski, not Agent Walker. I haven't been Agent Walker to you for more than 2 years, Chuck. I'm your wife and you're my husband who I finally found again. You're so tired and I've missed you so much, Chuck. Let's just lie on the bed and hold each other like we used to back in Burbank, OK?"

"Is it really you, Sarah? Really? How do I know you're not one of Beckman's bitches? She sent Webb to lure me away and it worked until I got…until I got…sick, I think. Tired of thinking. Tired of worrying. Would you hold me, Agent, just for a little while, just until it stops hurting? Please?"

"Of course, Chuck. Come lie down and let me hold you, sweetheart. It's been a long time between cuddles, Chuck."

He was sweating like a pig and she could feel the heat radiating off him. He wasn't crazy or having some mental problems, he was sick! His rambling, his temper and his demeanor screamed delirium and she immediately went out and summoned the team medic.

* * *

**Six hours later**

"OK, ma'am, I've got another IV running and that's about all I can do. His temp is still high but it's come down and it's not frying his brain. He's either got a recurrence of malaria or something else and I can't be sure which. I'd bet on the malaria and I'd also bet he wasn't taking his damned pills either. You got to follow the Boss around with a pill bottle and a tray of needles come inoculation time. Man, does he hate needles."

"Fine, but where the hell did my husband get malaria?" She was livid. What other 'secrets' didn't she know about?

"You'll have to talk to the Colonel, ma'am. I've only been with the Team a few months. And it's probably 'need to know' crap anyway."

"Well, thanks for what you've done. How long does this last? It's not…fatal, is it?"

"Can be, but I don't think that's the case. Assuming it is malaria, he could be good to go now or when he wakes up. It could be dengue, plague, almost anything that breeds in this shit hole of a country and he was out in the desert for a while. The Boss missed the inoculation rotation but the General didn't think it was a big deal so she let it slide until the next time he'd be in Washington. I guess that was a mistake on her part."  


* * *

Bryce had returned and was briefing Casey when Sarah walked in on the conversation and unloaded on Casey.

"Where the hell was Chuck that he picked up fucking malaria? And why did you take him outside CONUS without inoculations? That's criminal negligence, Casey, criminal."

"Whoa. Beckman drafted him for a special one-week mission to Colombia, something to do with reviewing FARC records to see if he could flash on anything. The Colombian government wouldn't let them out of their control so he went there. They'd have been in and out but the bird they were flying on to the interior base went down in a storm – at least that's the official report."

"Where were his handlers, his support?"

"Beckman sent him solo and he and the two helicopter pilots were the only ones onboard for the trip out from Bogotá. It was supposed to be a quick three hours out, three days to review, then three hours back. No one even reported the chopper down until the fourth day."

"By then Beckman had half the satellites looking for him. When they found the crash site and the bodies, well, Beckman freaked out and sent in a Special Ops team but they came up empty handed. He was gone, Sarah, without a trace."

"Eleven days later our boy showed up at the embassy asking for a ride home." Bryce almost choked on his beer. _Eleven _days? He knew Colombia. Amazing.

"He came back 25 pounds lighter but we all figured it was due to having to eat whatever he could catch or find. He said he'd had a touch of the flu. Hell, Sarah, we were just amazed he was still alive and damned glad he was back."

"Pole Dancer came back from the DC hospital and was really shaken up. He'd had two GSWs that he'd managed to patch up enough so that he could walk out. He walked with a limp for about 2 months until Carrie convinced him to take some PT. No big deal, Sarah but the malaria? That's probably where he picked it up."

"Oh. Sorry for jumping down your throat, Casey. My God, what else happened?"

"Nothing you don't already know about. I guess we just forgot about Colombia. Chuck never mentioned it again and neither did Beckman. I think that's when she started seeing Chuck in a new light. That's about the time he assumed unofficial Station Chief duties and had private briefings with her."

The three of them reviewed the plan as Chuck and Casey had originally drafted it and made some improvements and some small changes but it was essentially the original plan.

Casey and 4 of the team would take the Hind and make it out to the hide site at the abandoned village. They'd pick up fuel for it and convoy it out to the site in preparation for the attack, bringing back Casey and the strikers.

Feeling that they'd done all they could for one day, they set the time line and figured to commence at 0600 the next morning with the theft and Sarah and Bryce convoying out to the village with fuel and the GPS beacon.

Casey and Bryce went to find a poker game and Sarah went in search of a husband she wasn't sure she could keep.  


* * *

The night table lamp was on and she saw Chuck sleeping on his back, IV gone and just wearing boxers. There was a bowl of water and a wash cloth and towel and someone had been keeping him cool while she'd been losing her's.

Feeling ashamed, she wet the cloth and began washing his arms and chest and finally his face. He woke when the cool and damp cloth touched his cheek and he took the cloth from her hand and pulled her down onto his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

"I've missed you so much, Wife. I knew I'd find you again. I just had to keep looking. I'm sorry it took so long. I was looking in all the wrong places. I should have looked into your heart, Sarah. I'd have found you there but I didn't and I'm so sorry for that."

"Are you, Chuck? Are you sorry you didn't find me? Are you sorry you did? Do you want a divorce so you can be with…her? I won't fight you on it. I – I – I just want you to be happy, Chuck. Honestly."

"I'm happy now, Sarah. Carrie is not my wife nor do I want her to be. I don't want this to come between us. Neither of us could help what happened. Neither of us caused it. I won't apologize for what happened any more than I expect you to apologize for B-B-Bryce. It wasn't anything we could control. I don't want a divorce. I want happily ever after with you, if you still want us to be together."

"Do you mean that, Chuck, or is this the malaria talking? Do you know who we are? What we are?"

"Malaria? So that's what was kicking my ass. Must have been the long walk in the woods in Colombia. You don't get malaria in Burbank. Huh. What do you know about that. I guess I should have kept taking those damned horse pills but man they gave me the…never mind."

"We're Chuck and Sarah Bartowski and we're married and we're NSA super spies. Well, at least I am. You're a CIA puke who can't read a map." He smiled to take any sting out of his jibe.

"Good. I want to be your wife. No doubt in my mind. Now, tell me all about your trip to Colombia and also why you won't get your inoculations or take your damned pills, Chuck. I have to be up and on my way to the village we found to hide the chopper by 6am so we have until then to fill each other in on what we've missed."

**Chuck's Colombia tale as told to Sarah**

Pole Dancer pitched a fit when I told her she was definitely not coming to Colombia with me. Beckman's orders were for me and me alone to go and it was all very hush-hush. I was to fly to DC for a briefing and refresher download and then fly by military aircraft to Bogotá.

Colombian officials had captured a FARC regional headquarters and supposedly there were references to Fulcrum and the Omaha Project in the paperwork that had not been destroyed. Some were in English but most were in Spanish and the government would supply a translator for my use.

The whole trip was to only take 7 days but ended up taking a few days more and I never did get to review the documents. A wasted trip.

Bogotá was hot and wet and just a quick stop on my way to the interior. The records were stored at a military base in the wilds of the interior and the only way to get there comfortably and safely was by helicopter. The Colombian government bent over backwards and we flew out in an old Huey that was probably old when I was born. I'd met with the two pilots before the flight and introduced myself and thanked them for the ride. We flew out just at sunrise for a 3 hour trip. Sounded like Gilligan's Island.

About two hours into the flight the copilot turned to say something to the pilot and I saw his profile and flashed on a Fulcrum operative formerly of the CIA. He was not the original copilot so that meant – a hijacking in progress.

I carried my .45 M1911 in a shoulder rig under my jacket and when the Fulcrum copilot turned to me with a pistol in his hand I was ready for it and shot him. I stuck the muzzle of my pistol into the pilot's neck and told him to turn around but he had other ideas and pulled his own pistol and then set the bird spinning by taking his feet off the rudder pedals.

This threw me back against the bulkhead and he fired twice and I thought he'd missed the first shot but managed to get me in the fleshy part of the thigh with his second. Actually, the first shot tore a chunk out of my upper arm but did much more damage by ricocheting up into the transmission.

Hot hydraulic fluid sprayed all over the place and the Fulcrum pilot stopped the bird from spinning but now faced a self-destructing transmission. He keyed his mike and transmitted a message to someone and then…well, I don't remember anything until I woke up crammed under the aluminum jumps seats covered in flammable hydraulic fluid in a helicopter that was mostly in pieces lying on its side. I could hear the crackling of flames and I rolled out of the chopper through a large rent in its side and fell a few feet to the jungle floor.

The helicopter's nose was impaled on the severed trunk of a tree about 5 feet from the ground. I think it would have exploded if it had hit the ground so I was grateful for any favors. I opened the pilot's door and unstrapped the body and pulled it out of the wreck. I didn't want him burning to death but it was a wasted effort. His neck was broken. I already knew that the copilot was dead and I figured he could burn since he was beyond feeling any pain.

I stripped the pilot's body of his survival vest and all his documents and a survival knife and a first aid kit from under his seat and then tried to figure out which way was the shortest route back to civilization. I hadn't planned on a walk and didn't bother checking any maps. That was the last time I would ever be that foolish.

I used the stuff in the first aid kit to bandage the hole in my upper arm and then looked at the hole in my thigh. I threw up – a lot – then got to work trying to dig out the bullet because I'd read your infection rate sky-rocketed if you left it in. Big deal, right? It is when you're digging around in your own thigh trying to hear metal on metal. I finally got most of it out. The soft metal was split and several pieces were apparently still in there but I wouldn't know that until DC. I smeared Neosporin all over the wounds and then bandaged them as best I could.

Funny thing about the jungle. One minute it's daylight and the next minute it's not. And then the mosquitoes come out to dine. Guess who was the main course for at least a zillion of the little suckers (pun intended).

I unscrewed the cap on the handle of the survival knife and pulled out a small pack of waterproof matches and built a fire. Yeah, me, the boy scout. OK, so I cheated and poured a little hydraulic fluid on the wood to get it going. The important thing was…fire. My glee lasted about 20 minutes because then it started to rain and my comfort and fire were both dampened. I crawled under the body of the helicopter and used it as a big umbrella and tried to sleep.

Did you know it gets cold in the jungle at night when it rains? At least 70 maybe lower or maybe it was because I was soaking wet that it seemed so cold. I don't think I slept at all, waiting for dawn and the rising of the sun that would give me a direction to my mental map.

One thing about the sun, though, you can't see it if you're in a fog with rain and clouds obscuring anything but down. I didn't want to trust a defused glow in the sky as my East but figured I at least had a general North for my map. That did me no good since I really didn't know where the hell Bogotá was in the first place. I knew the US was north so I figured I'd just walk in a northerly direction until I either hit civilization or the Gulf of Mexico. Seemed like a damned good plan at the time.

I walked north or so I hoped. The moss on the trees grew on all sides so that old saw would not help me one bit. I stopped about noon or so and had a delicious meal of power bar courtesy of the pilot's survival vest. I sat there fiddling with the survivor knife when I popped a cover cap off the end of the handle and discovered a compass. I was pleased to find out I was heading in the general direction of north, only off a few degrees, actually. Sarah, I have to say I felt a lot better about my chances once I found the damned compass.

He heard the sound of soft snoring and felt her nuzzle in closer to him, squeeze him to ensure he was still there and then resume her soft snoring, content and reassured.

"Sarah, honey, are you listening? Sarah? Well, I suppose it was a little more exciting if you were there and lived it."

He pulled the sheet and light blanket over them and slept.

End16


	17. Waiting is the Hardest Part

Begin17

_This is your tripe-writer speaking so listen up._

_I shall be absent for a bit. It seems that a retina in my right eye has  
become a 'floating retina' and all those flashy things and black wiggly  
floaters I've been playing with are symptoms. And all this time I thought it  
was the booze._

_Anyhow, I had a cranial encounter with a boom cleat in Key West and that  
caused it. I'm getting it 'fixed' in N.O. Friday and will be barred from my  
monitor._

_I'm trying to cram the ending to this and figure I need to leave the 3 of you  
with something to tide you over until I finish GEG and the other one._

_Enjoy the day, peeps. And pls refrain from breast-beating and rending  
garments. I'm told it's not that big a deal._

_Armor-Plated-Rat  


* * *

_

**Desert Roadway**  
**Somalia**

Chuck went along for the ride with Sarah. There wasn't much else to be done and he felt the need to be doing something even if it was just riding along enjoying the early morning with his wife – and two striker chaperones and another rover driven by one of Bryce's locals.

Their destination was an abandoned farming village Sarah and Bryce had 'discovered' a few days prior when they were joyriding in the boonies looking for an analyst who had HALO'ed in to handle any documents found when they took out the Pirate King. They'd spent hours looking for the 'missing' analyst until he found them and nearly blew them away in an ambush.

The drive only took 45 minutes since Sarah had recorded the GPS coordinates and was following the dirt track that the guide book termed an 'unimproved highway' to the 'hide site'.

It took them another 45 minutes to off-load the jerry cans of av-gas and store them in a barn-like structure although Chuck figured it could probably double as the community center or town hall. Sarah just huffed at him and said, "It's a damned barn, Chuck, OK?"

He just grinned and whispered, "PMS, babe?" and he scooted out of her reach knowing how she reacted to _any_ reference to her 3 'unusually sensitive' days each month. Chuck had been horrified the first time he'd gone to her hotel room for a non-cover date and found her curled in a ball on her bed, a heating pad clutched to her lower abdomen. He'd wanted to call Ellie since he was sure it was a hot appendix. Sarah was never, ever sick.

She glared at him and told him to leave and ask Ellie about it since she had no intention of extending any information at all about her current physical state of affairs nor did she want to do anything other than what she was doing at that moment. Not trusting Ellie, he'd asked Devon and would never forget his horrified expression and quickly muttered explanation.

"Oh, shit, Chuck. Stay away from her until she gives you a sign it's safe to approach her again. For your own safety, bro, heed my words. Talk to her on the phone but do not approach her. Ellie's the exact same way, the heating pad, the near-fetal position, the icy glare and the 'bother me and die' stare." Devon was on a roll razzing his almost-brother-in-law's naïveté.

"It's PMS, Chuck. That's all. Man, how'd you get to be so old and not know about PMS?"

It became a joke between them. Another thing they shared only between the two of them.

"No, baby, it's not PMS, it's just that I fell asleep and never got to hear how you pulled off the Colombia thing and I didn't want you to think I wasn't interested, I was just tired from worrying about you and us. That's all."

"We'll have a lot of nights to finish that story. It's really no big deal, Sarah, really. Just a story about rain, cold and soggy power bars and a long walk in the woods. We can finish it another night. Don't sweat it. I was boring myself to sleep anyway."

"Well, when you're feeling well enough, I want to spend time engaged in make-up sex. We have a lot of time to make up, husband." She wiggled her eyebrows in an attempt to do the 'Bartowski Eyebrow Dance' and he laughed at her attempt.

"Tonight, Sarah, tonight. Honeymoon in Somalia. We'll find a quiet spot and just make out like teenagers. Wouldn't want your screams to keep the team awake." He did the eyebrow dance and she grinned and leaned down from the rover's cab and whispered, "Oh, Chuck, it would be your screams they'd hear. I have such wicked plans for us, my lover."

"Maybe it _is_ a barn, Sarah." Chuck set up the GPS transponder and sat beside his wife, waiting for Casey. "We'll have to wait until we get to Rome, Sarah. Then you can ply your wicked ways on me. Tonight, well, tonight we're going to be busy visiting the neighbors."  


* * *

Forty minutes later the Hind appeared on the horizon, flying nap of the earth to discourage pursuers. It landed in front of the 'barn' and when the rotors quit turning they wheeled as much of it as they could into the cavernous structure and set about refueling the helicopter.

"Casey, what's the load out on armaments?"

"A lot of nothing, I'm afraid. We got mucho ammo for the door gunners but only a single pod of Hellfire equivalents and less than half a store of 30mm for the minigun. That kind of limits our options, Chuck. There are a lot of loose munitions we haven't really had the chance to check out yet and a couple of crates but I haven't really looked at them."

"How was the FedEx bird? Still intact?" It was their way home to Rome. The locals were notorious for stealing what ever wasn't nailed down, and then try to sell it to you in the bazaar the next day.

"Yeah, Bryce's guys have done a good job. We'll owe them a bonus, that's for damned sure."

"Let's get these crates open and see what the good African Fairy left us to work with."

"Chuck, one more thing. I went by the consulate and checked in with the duty officer, Carrie's in Rome, arrival confirmed. Just thought you'd like to know, that's all."

**Bosaso, Puntland Semi-Autonomous Region, Somalia**

**Hotel JubaSuite of Kings**

"A truck bomb? Are you nuts, Chuck? I vote we go top down and use the chopper to…" but Chuck interrupted him.

"Colonel, we don't vote here. We decide. And we've decided to blow the hell out of the place with a truck bomb right after you take out the guards on the roof and bell tower with the door guns and main minigun. The spies and I will hold the main entrance and the remaining strike team will secure the rear entrance by the portico killing anyone tries to leave."

"Damn it, Chuck, if they all come running out at you you'll be overrun and the King could escape."

"Well, then we'll have to make sure that doesn't happen. How many people wandered out of the Murrah Building? How many out of the Marine Barracks in Beirut? Shock and awe, Colonel. Besides, we have your rocket pods and the door gunners. There's minimal collateral damage and a nice wide killing field if anyone does get out."

"OK, what about the roving foot patrol? How's the driver of the truck bomb going to get away clean? We need every man we have, Chuck, and the driver's going to be wide open in that killing field of yours."

"What driver, John? We'll aim the truck at the main entrance, those double doors, tie down the steering, juice the gas and let it fly. We'll follow right along behind it. Thanks to the Semtex you guys brought in those crates, the crater and rubble will stop anyone from driving out. The short team can pick them off. Other objections?"

"Sweetheart, we have no idea how many are in there to begin with. My best estimate is between 20 and 30 based on manning levels during the daylight hours. And the seaward side has that gallery or verandah that wraps around. The windows are not blocked up like all the others. That's a means of egress since the actual explosion will occur at the opposite end of the building."

"Fine, what are _your_ recommendations, Sarah?"

"I have to agree with Casey, Chuck."

"Fine, but a wrinkle. We use the truck bomb and then the chopper comes in from out to sea, clears the roof of whoever's still alive and drops a fast rope team then rockets the verandah and race tracks around the building letting the door gunners pick off anyone who makes it out. The top-down team polices up survivors and once we identify the King I waste him and we all pile into the chopper and head for the airfield and Rome. Any objections to that approach, Sarah, Colonel?"

"Chuck, you mean take him prisoner, right?" Sarah was aghast at the possibility of executing a prisoner.

"Those are my orders, Sarah, and have been since the Blackbird. I'll do it fast and clean if he's not already dead. Prisoners mean possible retribution. Can't be allowed to happen. The General was adamant and I agree. This bastard is planning to use WMDs in Rome without regard to the niceties of war. He dies."

Sarah wouldn't meet his eyes and Casey looked askance at his friend. "OK, sunset is 1940 hours and it's 1100 now. Let's leave the door gunners and the cleaners here as security, load the Semtex into the land rover and go back to the hotel and brief the rest of the team. I'll put Bryce in charge of the bomb. He's good at things like that."  


* * *

The briefing started at 1230 and finished at 1400. There were questions, good questions but the answers left a lot to be desired. They were counting on shock and surprise to give them the edge.

"I remember another briefing like this one, Sarah. Beckman gave us one with holes you could drive a truck through. Why aren't you making your opinions known, Sarah? He's your husband, yes, but he's also the AIC of this op. He needs your guidance and mine. Why isn't he listening? And why does he have to be the one to do in the Pirate King? And don't tell me 'orders'. He bends them when necessary. It's like he's following a script."

"I'll talk to him, Casey, but it's his decision as AIC, not ours. He's right, we don't get a vote." He nodded and walked over to Bryce and then they went down to build the 'bomb'.

Sarah walked out onto the balcony after the briefing and her 30-second conversation with Casey. She handed Chuck a beer and opened hers and opened the conversation very cautiously.

"Casey and Bryce are assembling the truck bomb, sweetheart, and the team is relaxing, waiting for the 'go' signal. How are _you _doing, husband?"

"Me? I'm torn in shreds and don't have a choice. We have to get this done and get back to Rome. My little foray into insanity has cost us a day and I don't know if we'll even find what we need once we're in there. This whole thing has become a farce. 'Go in after the agents and read the documents and look for clues, Bartowski.' Yeah, look for clues among the rubble? Execute an old man because we killed his brother? Crazy but necessary."

He was standing up straight looking out over the city. She knew but hadn't realized just how tall he was. She squeezed between him and the rail and stood on tiptoes to kiss him. He sighed through the kiss and wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up so she was sitting on the balcony railing.

"This is much easier on both of us, Sarah Bartowski." Now he was totally involved in a kiss. Totally. He broke the kiss and slipped down and whispered in her ear that they did have an entire bedroom empty.

She hopped down, grabbed his hand and giggling, dragged him through the empty living room to the bedroom. Locking the door and flicking off the lights she pushed him down on the bed and tore off her clothes and smiled. "Get naked, Bartowski. We have issues to discuss."  


* * *

"Sarah, that was…amazing. Seriously. When we get done with this crap in Rome we're going on vacation. Greece, Sicily, Spain, hell, I don't care if we leave the Rome hotel room. I just want to spend all my time with you, catching up. Sex is awesome but spending time together, that's awesome, too. What do you say?"

"Yes, but we both have responsibilities, Chuck and I don't know how this will all play out with Beckman. I'm afraid of that woman and what she can and will do. Look at what she's already done to us, Chuck."

"Beckman's not the problem, Sarah. You will be assigned as my personal one-and-only protective detail with instructions to stay with me 24/7. Trust me on this, honey. No one will mess with us. I have more info on the good General that McDonald's has fries. She knows it and she's afraid. Her fear is our strength so don't sweat it."

"Shower?"

"Yes. Then I have some questions, Chuck, and I need you to be honest when you answer, please? There is no 'need to know' between us, baby, not anymore. You can ask me anything and I'll answer truthfully, honest. But I expect reciprocity, OK?"

"Shower, then talk then fight then make-up sex then shower…"

"Shower. No more fighting. You're my lover, Chuck, not a fighter." She laughed and ran to the shower.

Later, drying her off and admiring her toned body he opened the door to her questions and trust. "OK, ask away." She turned and looked at him, staring deeply into his eyes, weighing her options.

"Fine. Why do you have to be the one to kill Ibn Faud? Why not me or Casey?"

"Orders. And I intend to carry these orders out personally. I can't tell you why, Sarah, because I don't know why. It's a like a command imperative but it's not the Syndrome and it's not any of Beckman's conditioning. I have to do it to be at peace. That's the answer in the intersect and that's good enough for me. Is it good enough for you though?"

"Yes. I don't understand but I trust you. Now, let's get ready and head out to the 'barn' or 'community center' or 'town hall' and deliver the team to the chopper."

"See, I told you it could be any of those things…"

* * *

**Helicopter 'Hide Site'**

"Casey, give us 3 hours to get in place and then execute the plan. We should be in place by 2300 but lets allow for 'problems' and call it 0100 hours, agreed?

"Yeah, best to give yourself a cushion especially since you're in the clutches of the 'Lost' team. Be careful, Chuck, watch your ass and your wife. Don't worry too much about Larkin. He's always looking out for #1. I'll see you in Eelya after the takedown and fly you all out to the airport. We should be in Rome by 1000 tomorrow morning."

"Keep it upright, Casey. No fancy stuff. That's a maintenance nightmare you'll be flying and you know it."

Casey just laughed and walked around the Hind. He had 4 strikers and two as door gunners and he was ready to kick some ass. The 35-minute flight to Eelya was the easy part. The attack was also a no-brainer. It was the flight from the attack site to the airport that was critical, especially if they had wounded.  


* * *

**Eelya, Puntland Semi-Autonomous Region, Somalia**

**0035 hours**

They were in position and waiting for the clock to catch up with them. Casey would be leaving the hide site any minute and all ground elements were in position.

"Bryce, you good to go? Figured out how to keep this thing on course?"

"Yeah, shouldn't be a problem. The real problem will be if the fusing doesn't set off the Semtex. That would be…embarrassing."

Chuck laughed quietly and Sarah punched Bryce in the arm and muttered 'asshole' and grabbed Chuck and dragged him to their position. The night vision goggles were a godsend. Apparently Eelya Gas & Electric was having a bad night and power was out throughout the small fishing village. If the compound had a back-up generator it was either not working or they didn't need lights.

"Chuck, be careful. I'll be right beside you always on your left, OK? Don't try and be a hero. You're already mine. That should be enough for you, OK? And remember your promise. Rome, a hotel room and lots of time spent together."

"I remember. Just don't do anything foolish. I just got you back. I can't lose you now. Get that damned blonde hair under your cap. Don't give them a target."

**0045 hours**

"Sarah, I've been meaning to ask you, have you come across my cell phone? I couldn't find it to burn when I torched those gross BDUs the first night I was here."

"I threw it off the balcony onto the drive way of the hotel. It shattered into a million pieces, Chuck. I'm sorry but I was looking for our pictures on it and found Ellie's wedding and then the 'US' directory. I lost it and threw it away in a rage. I'm sorry, Chuck. I know those pictures are irreplaceable but you were going to burn it. I never should have done that. I snooped and I'm so sorry. Forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive. We'll fill up a new phone with 'US' pictures. I don't need those memories. I've got my old ones back now."

"Thanks. I needed to hear you say that."

**0050 hours**

"Say, Sarah? What happened to our wedding rings?"

"I don't know, Chuck. Why? We can get others. We can even get married again if you want. Whatever makes you happy, sweetheart. But I don't need a ring to feel married. Not any more. I got you!"

**0058**

"Bryce, let's get this show on the road. I got a hot date in Rome with a hot blonde you used to know but better forget, understand?"

"Fine with me. There's this flight attendant and her roommates. Lufthansa. Very interesting. Very…attentive, too. Don't worry, Chuck, I don't want one of her knives in my throat. She's hands-off and not remembered. Good luck with this marriage thing. Suits you two. Better you, dude, than me. So many women and so little time."

**0059**

"Chuck, I hear the Hind. It's out over the sea and coming in."

"Bryce, let her rip. And if it doesn't explode, I'll kill you. Take off the night vision goggles everyone."

Larkin laughed and started the rover and jammed and wedged the gas pedal to the floor and hopped out and rolled into cover.

**0100 hours**

_**To Be Continued**_


	18. The Compound & All Roads Lead to Rome

**_A/N: Please read notes at end of the chapter._**

**_The quacks in N.O. wasted my day re-examining my and deciding to wait another week. Apparently the LSU-Georgia game was more important than my damned eyeball. LSU won (of course) so maybe since next week's a home game I'll have the surgery. One can only hope._**

**_Armor-Plated-Rat_**

Begin18a

* * *

**Eelya, Puntaland, Somalia**

**0102 hours**

The Land Rover apparently hit a pebble or a stone because the 'straight shot' to the double doors was about 15 degrees off and the Rover hit the exact corner of the compound wall going about 40mph and detonated. That corner of the compound was a storage location for drums of gasoline and diesel fuel for the pirates' Boghammers that were used in plying their piracy. It made for a series of nice secondary explosions as drum after drum exploded, some flying as much as 50 feet into the air trailing burning fuel and soaking the roof of the structure in flaming fuels. At least half the roof was in flames and the guards at the various weapons emplacements either fell to the flames or the fire from the Hind's miniguns.

Chuck was horribly wrong about people emerging from the structure. Within the first 30 seconds the double steel-clad doors swung inward and at least five or more people rushed out. And fell. Crispy critters. A canvas-topped pickup truck, totally in flames, drove out slowly and then stopped. The driver was probably dead or dying. The gas tank ignited, blowing the vehicle over on its side partially blocking the entrance to the courtyard.

The trio advanced very slowly towards the burning compound scanning for any live pirates. They had not been able to account for the roving foot patrols and they didn't want to leave their asses uncovered. Bryce and Sarah took the lead with Chuck bringing up the rear, keeping a close watch on the corners of the building. So far, none of the villagers seemed to want to get involved but that could change in a heartbeat.

**0104**

Casey was having a great time hosing the bell tower to pieces and then destroying each of the emplacements with minigun and door gunner fire. The team fast roped down to the rooftop and went in search of an entrance to the lower levels. Casey flew the Hind around to the verandah and walked a series of rockets across the face of the windows with mixed results. Hovering, he used the remainder of his minigun ammunition to blow the door open and hose the interior with unknown results.

He began a slow racetrack circuit around the burning compound allowing his door gunners to fire at anything that moved.

**0109**

The fast ropers cleared the second level of the structure without encountering any opposition. In point of fact, they encountered no one. That changed when they found the stairs to the ground floor and the first man was stitched across the legs with automatic rifle fire. The remainder of the team leap-frogged their way through a series of small rooms after dispatching the only armed man they encountered. From his age they knew he was not the Pirate King.

Ibn Faud knew he had to escape the crusaders. All Christian or Western military were know as 'crusaders' since it stirred up the passions of almost a thousand years of warfare between the forces of "Christendom" and Islam. It was a political tool and was widely used in Islamic countries – because it worked.

He had hidden under a bed until the invaders had passed and now was walking carefully toward the compound's courtyard and freedom. Once he managed to leave the compound he was free and clear, mixing in with the people safely, knowing he wouldn't be found. After all, to all Euros most Africans looked alike. He was counting on that.

His compound was ablaze and he hugged the far wall inching his way behind crates and small conexes and making for the open gates. He had counted over a dozen bodies in the compound and knew those on the roof were dead thanks to the government helicopter. He could not believe the authorities had turned on him and offered him up like a fatted calf to appease the western countries. Well, the First City would die and justice would be had with a swift and terrible scourging.

**0113 hours**

Just as Ibn Faud approached the double doors, two men in battle dress entered the compound courtyard, less than 10 yards away but at such an angle they hadn't seen him. He shot the first one twice in the chest and when the second, taller crusader turned and raised his weapon he faltered, seemed in a daze, his eyes blinking rapidly. Ibn Faud shot him 3 times in the chest. He laughed and walked over to the taller of the two and placed the muzzle of his weapon against his face. He'd been wearing body armor and was just beginning to catch his breath.

"NO!" came a woman's demanding voice from the entrance. He just had time to raise his eyes and take in the blonde crusader woman when his chest was shredded by the woman's weapon. His last act was to pull the trigger on his AK-47 as he collapsed, lifeless, to the ground.

Bryce was trying to sit up but was still having problems breathing. The vest had saved his life but the impacts at such close range had cracked or broken ribs and driven every ounce of oxygen from his lungs. The world was gray with silver flickers and he tried to suck air into his lungs and fight back.

Chuck was lying dazed from the impacts and an inability to take a breath. He knew he wasn't wounded but his mind was convinced he was dying. He rolled over onto his stomach and then got to all fours, still trying to drag one, just one, full breath into his aching lungs. He looked over in Bryce's direction and saw his friend was in the same predicament.

Sarah! Where was Sarah? He started looking around, still not totally together. Getting to his knees and finally to his feet he swayed as he looked around for his wife. He saw ibn Faud and went over and flashed on him again. The last flash had almost cost him his life. The intersect was a damned double-edged sword. It offered information but made him temporarily helpless while it was compiled and 'downloaded'.

"Sarah! Sarah!" He looked around and was attacked from behind and knocked to the ground on his face and roughly rolled over and attacked again by a blonde in full battle dress sobbing into his vest.

"Hey, it's OK, I'm OK. You saved my life, Sarah. Again." He had a feeling she was back on Terminal Island reliving the horrible night before she left.

"I won't leave you, Chuck, no matter what. I won't leave you."

"Chuck is she OK? Are you OK? Man, these vests are great but we were almost toast. If hadn't been for my…I mean, Sarah, we'd have been dead, man. That was as close as I want to get to the warm, bright light for a long time. So, is she all right? Can you get up?"

Bryce's comm. crackled for the first time since 0100 hours and Casey asked for a sitrep.

"Ibn Faud's dead, Casey. We're going to take a walk through and let Chuck check out any documents and then you can pick us up. We're all OK here, just got some cracked ribs and shortness of breath, that's all. Meet us at the other end and we'll head home."

"Negative. The strikers pulled all the documents they could find from the only 'office' and the Boss can look at them in the plane on the way home. Wait out front of the double doors for pickup. We have one wounded already on-board and you're the final passengers so be there."

There was something in Casey's voice that caused the hairs on Bryce's neck to stand up and shout.

"Chuck, Sarah, Casey's coming in hot in 30 seconds, so let's move it."

He helped Sarah up and then Chuck who just groaned and tried to take a deep breath.

**0117 hours**

The three agents piled onto the chopper and it turned toward the airport and the FedEx bird.  


* * *

**0307 hours**

The striker with the leg wounds was feeling no pain thanks to a Demerol drip. Chuck sat with him until he was sure the drug was working and then told him he'd see him in Rome for the after-action party and maybe, if he was lucky, he'd let him dance with his wife. The striker just grinned and gave him a thumbs up and then went to sleep.

He walked up to the row of aluminum jump seats occupied solely by Sarah Bartowski. He sat down and pulled the blanket tighter around her and pulled her down so her head was in his lap and she stretched her legs out over the other seats. "I'm sorry I lost it back there. Maybe we shouldn't do ops together, Chuck. If I'd lost it at a critical time I might have lost you for keeps."

"Nope. I want you right beside me. I need you to cover my ass. I discovered something tonight. The intersect is a danger to it's host, Sarah. He got the drop on me while I was flashing on his file information. He had me cold and I really thought I was dead when he put the muzzle of that AK against my cheek. All I could think about was losing our future together, not dying, but losing my life with you. So, no, you _have _to be with me. End of conversation, Sarah."

"I love you, Chuck."

"I know. Now, go to sleep. I remember something about hotel rooms and room service and wicked ways."

When he was sure she was asleep he eased out from underneath her head and walked up to cockpit area, climbing up and taking the Engineer/Navigator seat. He grabbed a set of headphones and keyed the intercom mic for Casey.

"So how'd it feel to be a rated combat helicopter pilot again, Casey?"

"Felt great, Boss. I belong in the air. Even now the buzz is still strong. I'll be good to go until Rome, don't worry about that."

"That's good because flying this turd bucket 50 feet off the deck is not my idea of a learning experience. We good on fuel or are you going to max out Beckman's AMEX and find a Texaco station?"

"I figure we'll refuel in Israel. They're still accepting American air traffic, at least until the Iranians nuke 'em in the Second Holocaust. They still take AMEX. We'll have about 30 minutes reserve assuming no headwinds. We're good to go."

"It was a good op, wasn't it, John? I mean, I didn't screw anything up too badly, did I? Only one guy wounded and all the bad guys zapped and Ibn Faud deader than shit. It went OK, right?"

"Yep. Slicker than shit off a shiny new shovel, Boss. Now quit worrying about it and go review the documents. Simmons has sorted out the 'squiggles' from those in English and he's ready to read the 'squiggles' to you when you're ready."

"Right. No rest for the wicked. Thanks for everything, Casey. We couldn't have done it without you and the rest of the team. What was Beckman thinking sending in only two agents and an analyst? How in the hell did she make 1st lieutenant let alone General?"

Casey laughed and threw Chuck the finger and went back to flying between the sand dunes. Rivera was sitting in the copilot's seat with his eyes closed mumbling and fingering his Rosary. Well, they'd need all the help they could get. Divine intervention would certainly be appreciated.

Sarah woke up and immediately searched for her husband. For just an instant she saw Bryce sleeping and wondered if it had been a dream, wishful thinking. The she saw his curly hair and smiled. He was busy and she wouldn't interrupt him. Instead, she sat and devised various scenarios involving warm chocolate and whipped crème and strawberries. And champagne, lots of champagne. She fell back to sleep in the middle of a daydream licking melted chocolate off her husband.

Chuck had read through all the English documents, flashed on a map with circled locations and then spent nearly an hour listening to Simmons read his translations of various notes, letters and reports. By the time they were done he had a good idea where all the Somali infiltrators were holed up but not where the Sarin was located. Maybe they could sweat it out of the pirates.

He thanked Simmons for his good work and excellent translations and then took the map and his notes forward to the cockpit area. He needed to think this through.

John Casey had used his cell phone to call an old friend of his in the Israeli Defense Forces to make arrangements for their arrival and refueling in Haifa. Ari was hesitant until Casey reminded him of some things and then he reluctantly agreed to help – provided he forgot all about Beirut and never, ever, brought it back up. They were even. Finally. He was married now and his wife, a former Mossad agent, was not very understanding about some things.  


* * *

**Haifa, Israel  
IDF Airfield**

The #4 engine sputtered and died on final approach and the #1 engine died as they were taxing to the refueling point.

"God damn, Casey, you said 30 minutes reserve. We're running on fumes!"

"Well, I also said 'assuming no headwinds' and I guess there were headwinds."

Chuck walked away muttering all kinds of threats and punishments while Rivera simply smiled and waved his Rosary at the sky and whispered "Thank you".

Chuck popped the hatch and stepped out onto the tarmac and took Carrie's cell phone and called Beckman. To hell with the time difference. Let her be disturbed for a change.

"Beckman secure."

"Bartowski, secure. We're in Haifa. Can you record this conversation, please?"

"Of course. How did the mission go?"

"All objectives met. I have a list of locations and a map showing hide sites or laagers in Italy but nothing on the actual location of the Sarin. One of the team read me the Somali text and I handled the English. We've got a list of targeted shipping we can pass on the various navies involved. I think that should get us some brownie points. Pretty cut and dried. We've refueled and Casey tells me we'll be in Rome by 10ish barring his famous 'headwinds'. Will your office be handling the Italian police coordination? I think we're probably done here. Not much else we can do. It's all up to the Italians now. Embassy security's been beefed up, I hope?"

"You'll need to stay in Rome in case any unforeseen events occur. Once the terrorists are in custody and the Sarin found and secured we'll discuss further operations."

"Works for me. Thanks for keeping your word with Agent Webb. By the way, have you ever heard of the Islamic Jihad Brotherhood? I saw a few references to them in the papers we found but there's nothing in the intersect about them."

"No problem. Webb should be ambulatory and we'll fly her back to DC for treatment along with your striker. I'll run the Brotherhood by the CIA and a couple of our informants but it's the first I've heard of it."

"That's it, then, General. Contact you again in Rome. We need more successes like this. Congress should loosen the purse strings once you bring them this stuff. Money in the bank."

"Yes, it certainly will be." Beckman hung up and wondered again how she was going to get along with Bartowski now that he was reunited with his wife. She'd made a mistake and now she was going to pay for it. For a long time. Forgiveness was not a long suite in the Bartowski repertoire when it came to his loved ones.  


* * *

**Rome, Italy**

They arrived a little before 9am…tail winds, probably. Casey had just chuckled at that. The team was transferred to embassy buses and returned to a well-deserved celebration in the embassy commissary. Chuck and Sarah went to the dispensary to check on the wounded striker and Carrie Webb.

Sarah buttonholed a doctor she'd dated and introduced him to her husband. He looked like he was going to wet his pants considering how intense their one and only date had been. This 'Chuck' of hers seemed to be able to see into his soul and he made quick work of his status report on Agent Webb so he could leave.

"She's almost catatonic. She'll need intense therapy back in the States. Honestly, I wouldn't hold out much hope for your friend ever being an agent again. Maybe an office worker in the Agency but nothing operational. She's having reality problems, keeps shifting her identity. I suppose she was severely traumatized by some event. By the way, who ever did the stapling did an excellent job. No infection and no separation. It should heal with minimum scarring although that's the least of our concerns."

Chuck just stared daggers at the doctor and Sarah thanked him and dragged Chuck away before he could do harm to the poor man. "Chuck, that was a long time ago and I thought we'd agreed to start fresh?"

"Yeah, it's just that…I'm jealous, OK? I'm sorry, but I'm jealous.

"I know, baby, and you have no reason to be. I love you and only you. Now that we've checked on her, how about checking out my apartment? No need to worry about a hotel. Let's just get your stuff and get out of here, please?"

"Good idea. Let me go tell Casey where we'll be and then we'll head out. I transmitted the locations of the terrorist hides to Beckman. She'll get the Italian police involved so we're free and clear."  


* * *

**Sarah's Apartment  
Rome, Italy**

"Now I know why the Romans sat for hours in their baths. This could be habit forming, Sarah." They'd been in the huge tub for more than an hour, refreshing the hot water periodically and just enjoying the closeness of one another. She lay with her back to his chest and he with his arms around her.

"Well, we need to think about getting out, dried, and fed. I have nothing in the refrigerator to cook you so it's a local restaurant for a very late lunch. We can do some shopping and I'll cook dinner here for you. It's something I used to daydream about on drives and dead time between trips to Africa. And yes, I can cook."

Chuck was amazed as Sarah bargained, gossiped and chatted with people she had met or done business with in the open-air market a few blocks from her apartment. Her Italian was apparently flawless and she happily haggled with the best of them for their dinner ingredients.

"Wow, Sarah, I'm taking you along when I buy my next car. That was incredible. You spoke so fluently with no hesitation at all. Just 'wow', honey. Can we find a bar or café and just sit for a bit? I'm feeling tired all of a sudden."

Sarah immediately went into 'nurse' mode. No temperature, no sweating, no shivering, that ruled out a recurrence of malaria. She kicked her ass mentally for not getting him a prescription of daily anti-malarial drugs at the embassy pharmacy. Primaquine was what the medic had said he was 'supposed' to be taking.

"Sure. I could use a break and my feet are killing me in these heels. I miss my sneakers, Chuck. This 'dress to mess with your mind' is killing my feet." She laughed to herself. She'd worn a dress and sandals to remind him that he'd married a girl first, and an agent second. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it and then put her arm around his waist pulling him to her.

"I'm not sick, sweetheart, so unload the 'nurse' persona. I'm just tired. Physically, not mentally. I don't think I'm up to full speed after the syndrome thing but at least I'm not having those damned dreams any longer."

"Dreams? Bad dreams? About what? Sometimes it helps to talk about them."

"This is one discussion we will not have, Sarah. Never. I shouldn't have mentioned it, especially since the bad ones have been replaced by a new one, a nice one, a very loving one, too. So, forget I mentioned it. It's old crap and we agreed – fresh start."

"Well, tell me about the new one then. The loving one. Am I in it?"

"Every time. And it gets better and better. It's almost like a future life. It's wonderful and I feel so good when I wake up. It's that nice of a dream. I just hope I can make it our reality someday."

"Now you have to tell me about it, honey. You know how I'll bug the crap out of you until you do. I'll lie awake at night watching your eyelids and when I see the REM of a dream I'll wake you up and ask you about it, every time, Chuck, until you tell me."

He knew she would, too. "Tonight. I'll tell you tonight over supper. The supper you're supposed to cook. So tell me, when did you learn to speak Italian? I know you speak Spanish, French, German and Russian, but when did you have time to pick up Italian?"

"I had 11 months and 15 days, sweetheart. I have a knack for languages, you know that. Just like you soak up programming, I absorb a language. Just different alphabets, that's all."

Dinner was excellent and Chuck went overboard with praise. He was astounded that she could cook this well and said so. He knew when they'd first gotten married in secret that she couldn't boil water or peel a potato but here she'd made a vegetarian lasagna that would have Ellie in tears it was so good.

"Who taught you to cook like this? I know you couldn't do more than select a take-out order in Burbank." It was an honest question and he didn't feel like he was prying.

Sarah got a strange look on her face and then stammered "fresh start, remember? It wasn't anything to be jealous about, sweetie, really. I just met someone who taught me, that's all."

Well, that went over well. Chuck bridled and then stopped himself from leaving the table. "OK, I'm definitely jealous but I'll get over it. I'm really trying here, Sarah, and I know it's so unfair of me to feel this way but I'm only a guy married to a girl some far out of his class that it scares me."

There, the truth was out. He felt totally insecure in their relationship and he didn't know why. He didn't have a clue why someone as classy as Sarah would ever fall in love with a dork like him or even look at him for that matter. It would always be a wriggling little insecurity that would never leave him.

She saw him start to leave the table, wrestle with his fight or flight responses and then sit down and tell her exactly what he was feeling. While it was an incredibly courageous act for him to admit his insecurity to her, she knew, if the situation were reversed that she would lack the courage to do the same.

She reached across the little table and took both his hands in hers. "Chuck, I fell in love with you when you helped that father save his daughter's recital by staging it at the BuyMore. That was one of the most thoughtful and kindest things I'd ever seen."

"You just have no idea how you made me feel those first few months. I had to struggle so hard not to just grab you and throw you down and love you until you passed out. I still feel that way. I'll always feel that way. Don't you ever doubt it. And if I ever give you cause to doubt it, for God's sake, please tell me. It could only be unintentional or a misunderstanding. OK?"

He nodded his head, not looking at her. He was remembering the daily reports he'd analyzed in Burbank and at the Citadel. The after-action summaries filed by gnomes in Langley or Foggy Bottom or FT Meade, and dutifully keyed and transmitted for review to the intersect. He remembered several in particular. Now he wished he didn't. While her actions had been unintentionally hurtful there could be no misunderstanding. It was her job.

Correction. _**HAD**_ been her job. No more. No more whoring for the greater good. That phase of her career was over and there would never be a reoccurrence.  


* * *

**0630 Sarah's Apartment**

Her cell phone trilling it's shrill wake-up call pulled her from a delicious dream involving her husband and a bathtub full of chocolate pudding and she walked over to the dresser and answered her cell. Groaning over the loss of her warmth, Chuck turned on his side, his back to her, awake but listening.

"Walker, secure."

"I'm sorry, I have other duties now and I'm no longer available for assignments of that nature."

"Well, you'll just have to find another commercial attaché who's willing to spread her legs for the greater good. Those days are long gone. If you have any questions, contact General Beckman or Director Smithers at CIA Headquarters in Langley. Good day."

She slipped back in between the sheets and molded herself to her husband's back, slipping a silken thigh between his and hoping he'd wake up and greet the day properly.

"Chuck. Chuck. Sweetheart, it's morning and I haven't been properly loved since last night." 'Properly loved' was an apt description. Someone or something had lit a fire in her Chuck's passion pit and last night it had turned into a roaring inferno and she'd discovered repeatedly that she was actually capable of multiple orgasms. It had only taken the right man to do it.

Chuck rolled over and faced her, a small smile on his face. "I heard your side of the conversation. It was hard not to. Thank you. I needed to hear that even if it was unintentional. I'm sorry I've been such an ass about things but…"

Her hand covered his mouth and she nodded. "I know. I know. It's been like a wall between us and I know you know everything I've done since I left Burbank that day. I wish it had been different but it happened the way it did and I can't change the past. Maybe we should see someone, talk to an approved professional, and get all our various skeletons and insecurities out for examination and dismissal. I'll do anything you want, anything to bring us back to where we were before all this happened. Anything."

"No, we're good. I made a decision yesterday and you affirmed it in your conversation. No one will ever make us do something that will hurt the other. Never. I'm at peace with that. You've never asked me about Carrie and I think you need to hear the entire story, Sarah. We'll slay these dragons one at a time, together. But right now, I'm feeling more like a lover than a fighter." The eyebrows wiggled and danced and they would be late for the 9am briefing. Tough shit.  


* * *

**0925 American Embassy, Rome**

Bryce and Casey were sitting in the conference room talking with General Beckman regarding the events of the past 4 days. Bryce was making copious excuses for being 'late' for the pick up of the analyst who'd HALO'd into the desert. Beckman listened patiently, nodding occasionally as Bryce spun the tail, spinning it so that he wouldn't look like a total tool.

"And you found the asset and brought him in to your hide site?" She was waiting to pounce and tear this cocky little twerp a new rectal orifice. He seemed to forget the conversation when his analyst was finally found. Convenient and typical of the CIA.

"That's right, General and we brought him back to the King Jubal."

"Bullshit, Larkin. You were lost, 10 hours late and from what I've learned from sat pics, you were almost toasted by the 'analyst', Agent-in-Charge Bartowski. You are a tool, Larkin, and I'm going to have to re-evaluate your utility. Now where the hell are…"

"Right here, General. Good morning, what's up?"

Beckman's face grew dangerously red then slightly purple. "What's 'up', Agent-in-Charge Bartowski, is that only 10 of the 12 cells of Somalis were swept up by the Italian police. And we still don't know where the Sarin is."

"It's near the end of it's 'shelf life', General, and if we can find the other two cells or learn of their targets from the captured Somalis, we should be able to thwart their efforts, round them up and stuff them in a deep dank Italian prison. Preferably dead."

The three agents looked at Chuck, one with surprise (Larkin), one with satisfaction (Casey) and the other with concern (Sarah Walker Bartowski).

Beckman just nodded her head in agreement. This bloodthirsty version of the intersect was much more to her liking. The previous wimpy version would have cried for the terrorists, blaming society for their misbehavior. This one saw them for what they were: mad dogs needing to be put down for the good of all societies.

"I'd like nothing better but the Italians have interests in Somalia as well as a fairly large population of Somalis in their larger cities. It's a problem for them, not us, but I don't see them using 'persuasive techniques' to find out the answer to our questions."

"Stupid. It's their countrymen who will ultimately suffer in far greater proportion to those few misled and misguided fools. I suppose that's been explained to our hosts in great detail? A hundred thousand dead? Maybe more. My God, no wonder they lost their wars in modern times."

Beckman actually chuckled. Yes, she was definitely warming to this new and improved intersect.

The remaining two hours were spent rehashing the mission, the objectives met and the value of the documents found. Analysts were currently pouring over them hoping to connect whatever dots Chuck might have missed. There were several errors in translation that might yield improved results. Chuck would have to review them immediately after the meeting.

"General, what's next on the agenda for us? When can we get back home and into the Citadel?"

"Take the rest of the week off, enjoy Rome, and fly back on military aircraft on Sunday. Agreeable to all?"

It was. 5 days in Italy with Sarah was a mini-honeymoon. He'd broach an extended vacation in private when he next spoke with Beckman.

"What about Agent Webb? She's getting care here but it's not what she really needs. What arrangements have been made for her, General." The tone of Chuck's voice caught the immediate attention of all three agents. Beckman pursed her lips and tried not to scowl outright.

"She'll stay in Rome until her condition improves sufficiently to allow her to travel back to Washington without a full-blown medical escort. She's no longer your concern."

Chuck was having none of that. He knew how easy it would be for Beckman to lose Carrie in the 'system' and he owed it to her to take care of her.

"Remember our conversation, Diane? She'll fly back with us. I'm sure you can find competent medical specialists for her in DC in the next week. Please make it happen."

Beckman finally lost her cool. "Remember who you're speaking to, Bartowski and remember…"

"I'm speaking to the murderer of 12 innocent Americans who trusted in their government enough to allow this abomination to be stuck into their skulls. I am speaking to a mental rapist who so far has escaped any kind of retribution. And may I remind _you_, General, just _**what**__ you're speaking to_?" Not _who_ but _what _and Sarah wondered at the distinction_._

The screen blanked and the obscene logo of the NSA screen saver floated across the screen.

The three professional agents were silent, looking anywhere but at Chuck. Even Sarah seemed to be avoiding looking at him. Once again they'd experienced the 'Chuck' of the desert, the 'Chuck' who executed the CIA Station Chief and the 'Chuck' who'd beaten the Judas Syndrome. None of them knew quite what to make of him.

"I have to go read the new translations. Why don't you three meet me in the commissary for lunch around 1300? I should be done by then."  


* * *

**US Embassy Commissary  
Rome, Italy  
1230 hours**

"I never thought I'd see the day anyone reduced Diane Beckman to absolute impotence with one or two sentences. Bravo, Bartowski" said Casey. Chuck hadn't joined them yet so they were drinking coffee and discussing the meeting.

"What's with his attitude all of a sudden? The Chuck Bartowski I knew would never have wished harm on anyone let alone advocate torture and execution as a means to an end."

"The Chuck Bartowski you knew is dead, Bryce. He died a long time ago. That Chuck Bartowski was 'innocence' while this one is 'reality'. He grew up, Bryce; he grew into his role based on and despite circumstances. The intersect you gave him is the cause, but his experiences are the reason he is as he is. There's no fault there, it's just the way it is."

"Did anyone else trip to his use of the word 'what' when he reminded Beckman 'what she was talking to' not 'who'?" Sarah asked.

"That's the second time I've heard him refer to himself that way. The other time was in the King Jubal when he was on the phone with Beckman telling her how it was and was going to be. Man, I never thought I'd see two such conversations in the same lifetime," said Larkin.

"Other than the use of 'what' instead of 'who', Sarah, is he any different? I mean you knew him before all this better than any of us. Is he different in any discernable way?" Casey found he both liked and was uncomfortable with this new Chuck. He appreciated his decisiveness but was concerned with his overall "I don't give a damn" attitude where authority figures were concerned – especially Diane Beckman.

"He's more passionate about things he feels strongly about, he's more caring of people he loves or is responsible for, he's a lot more open but he's less forgiving and in some ways, a lot less secure in his grounding, his reality. I think this new post-Syndrome Chuck will take some 'handling' just to make sure he doesn't come off the rails. If he executed a Station Chief with little or no concern before the Syndrome, what would he do in a similar situation now? It's something we all need to think about and be aware of. I think if he threatened any one with harm, he'd mean it whereas the old Chuck would just be blowing hot air."

"You mean he means what he says, don't you, Sarah? If he says 'Do that again and I'll kill you' it's not an idle threat, right? He _will_ do it."

"I'm not really certain, Casey. Like I said, I've only been with him alone one night in more than a year. Let's withhold judgment until we have more information or one of us learns something. He's my husband and I love him very much and won't allow anyone to hurt him, clear"

The other two nodded as Chuck spotted them from across the commissary, waved, and walked over to join them.

"Anything new, Boss?" Casey prompted the conversation into safer waters.

"Not really. The words that were 'incorrectly' translated were mostly adjectives. Our guy got the gist of it correctly and that's all that mattered, really. So, done talking about me now?"

Sarah decided the truth was the best route to take but judging from the look on Larkin's face, he felt it was a mistake.

"Actually, sweetheart, we _were_ talking about you. Nothing bad, honestly. Just how much you've changed in such a short time, more mature and certainly better looking." She grinned at the look on Casey's face.

"Now, Boss, that's her opinion. Personally, I think you still look like a BuyMore geek wearing his Dad's suit." He grinned to take any insult out of the jibe.

"It's 'Nerd', Casey. Jesus, after all this time, it's 'Nerd' as in 'Nerd Herder'

or has advanced age finally caught up with you? Early on-set of Alzheimer's perhaps?"

"I have to go check on the Team. _One_ of us is not on his 'honeymoon'. Be good, people. I'll let you know if anything's amiss. You still using Pole Dancer's cell, right?"

"Yeah, mine was a combat loss. I burned it along with my clothes in Somalia after I got to their 'hide site'. Jesus, the best hotel in town and the best suite. You still have no regard for the taxpayers' money, do you, Bryce?" He didn't notice his wife's grimace at the lie. She'd been the one to destroy the cell phone in a fit of jealous rage. He didn't have to lie to protect her from the truth but still, she appreciated it. Just another thing to love him for.

Bryce just grinned and replied, "It was all for the cover, Boss, all for the cover."

The two men left to take care of business and Sarah just smiled at her husband thinking how lucky they were and how nice it was not to have to hide their relationship from their friends and co-workers. '_Oh, shit, Ellie!_'

"Chuck, have you spoken to Ellie since you left LA? She's thinking you're marrying Carrie, right? And now you're married to me, the woman she hates and wants only bad things to happen to?"

Chuck sighed, wishing she hadn't brought up his sister. Ellie was really going to require a lot of TLC where his wife was concerned. He'd probably have to get Beckman's OK to at least explain their roles in government service without alluding to the intersect.

"Maybe we'll send her a picture of us together with a wedding ring on our fingers. Think that'll be subtle enough?" He laughed imagining her screech of dismay, outrage and disbelief when she learned the truth, well, as much of the truth as they could tell.

"What's so damned funny, Bartowski? You think I like the idea of arriving in LA married to the man who's supposed to be married to someone else? You think she's just going to accept this with open arms? I left you high and dry and that's all she's going to know and respond to. I know your family history of abandonment. She'll never forgive me and hate me forever."

"Not once I explain our involvement in government service, how it was necessary for you to do what you did and why. She'll come around, honey, don't you doubt it for a minute. And if she doesn't, then she ceases to exist to me. You're my wife, for all time, and all the family I need. I love my sister but she can be an even bigger ass than her little brother. We'll just work on it."

"Maybe we can send her a video of us explaining it all to her. That way she can listen to it again and again until she either understands or it wears out?"

Chuck laughed, stood up and pulled her up beside him. "I think we need to take care of some stuff here, Mrs. Bartowski. Beneficiaries on life insurance, powers of attorney, and something I hate to bring up but is really necessary, wills."

"I already made you the beneficiary on my life insurance and my will is on record with you as the sole beneficiary of my meager possessions – including my Porsche. So don't think I don't love you, baby, my Porsche!"

"When did you do all this, Sarah?"

"When we got married in Vegas, right after that."

"Maybe that's how they tripped to us, do you think?"

Sarah was stunned and then hugged him and started to cry, realizing that she'd made the mistake that caused all this heartache. "I never though of it, oh my God, Chuck, I almost ended us. I never meant that to happen. I just wanted you to know that you were the only person in life that I'd trust with my stuff and…and…I only wanted to show you how much I loved you, even after death." She was inconsolable and Chuck couldn't think of anything to say or do that would break through her wall of wails.

"Sarah Walker Bartowski, stop doing this, stop blaming yourself for loving me and wanting to show it. Blame the fucking gnomes of the government but never yourself. How could you even begin to imagine they'd violate lawyer-client privilege? Now, stop this bawling and let's start living the rest of our life. You can't blame yourself. You did nothing wrong."

"But – but – I should have known better. I'm the fucking professional spy here. You're the asset, the brainiac with the thing in your head. I should never have exposed you, us, to discovery. My God, how stupid…"

"Sarah, enough is enough. It's done, history, water under the bridge. Let's move forward, not worry about back then, OK? Please? I hate seeing you upset for nothing. If it hadn't been that it would have been something else. Trust me, you can't depend on anyone else. Now, all done with messing up your make up? Go fix your face and let's do some shopping for souvenirs for Ellie, Devon and the baby, OK?"

He hated her tears. Hated her sadness. Mostly though, he hated the people that had done this to her, hurt her, caused her such grief. Beckman would pay for this, on his life he swore it. And he'd make damned sure she knew why she was suffering. Nobody hurt his wife and got away with it. Nobody.  


* * *

**To be continued** – _**Watch for the exciting conclusion as Chuck is forced to decide between Carrie Webb and Sara Walker Bartowski, as Sarah loses her husband (again) to an awakened and aroused Carrie Webb, as Casey grunts his way into a relationship and Larkin is seduced by Beckman in a teddy and becomes her boytoy. Well, it **__**could**__** happen. After all, who's writing this tripe?**_

**Armor-Plated-Rat**


	19. It All Comes Apart

_**A/N: I have more chapters so this is NOT the thrilling conclusion. Neener neener.  
**_Armor-Plated-Rat

* * *

**US Embassy  
Rome, Italy  
2:30pm**

Sarah waited in the hall just outside the room while her husband checked again on the status of his partner and ex-former-almost-would-have-been-fiancé and assassin, Carrie Webb. She was both jealous and admiring of the care and attention he paid her.

His was a unique situation and she knew that he'd developed real 'feelings' for Carrie over the course of the past months subtly 'assisted' by the 'suggestions' planted during various intersect updates. He told Sarah in Somalia bluntly and with no hesitation that yes, he loved Carrie Webb but no, he was not _in_ love with Carrie Webb. That honor was hers and hers alone. He was already married. To her. Sarah Walker Bartowski.

Chuck sat beside Carrie's bed, holding her hand and quietly talking to her. He explained what had happened and why. He also explained that he could not marry her because he did not love her in that way. He was already married and had had his memories suppressed just as she had. He loved his wife. She loved him. Their government had horribly violated all three of them but that didn't change facts.

He didn't know if she heard him or not. Sometimes he saw flickers of awareness in her otherwise dull eyes but none this visit. It broke his heart a little more each time he saw her like this. His Pole Dancer. His partner. His lov – no! Not his love. He had no way to 'categorize' Carrie, but lover was definitely not an option. Friend? Partner? He didn't know and it wasn't helping his mood any to dwell on it. He kissed her on the forehead and left.

"I heard what you said, Chuck, and I love you very much. I can't imagine how this must hurt, loving me and remembering loving her. I think we need to talk to someone, please, Chuck, for me? For us?"

"Yeah. You're right. When we get back to the States. Maybe your Agency can recommend someone in L.A.? You know we're not in Burbank any longer."

"I'll make some calls. This whole situation sucks and it's so unfair and degrading to us. I feel so bad for her, Chuck. I picked her. I filtered through ten agents to find her. I feel responsible, at least in part."

"You were doing your job, still trying to protect me, Sarah. She did a great job of doing it. Kept my butt out of trouble, just ask Casey. I'm sure he'll have tales of 'Squealing Chuckness' to tell."

'_Yeah, and she also kept you well-screwed, something I couldn't do when I was your handler. I can't believe I criticized you for being jealous and here I am, green-eyed and frothing at the mouth. We definitely need that couples therapy._'

"Sarah, let's go home. I feel the need for some serious catching-up on the times we've missed. I don't want to come back here, Sarah. Does that make me a terrible person? Seeing her like that, I don't think I can come back. She's…there's no one home, Sarah. She's gone and part of me is glad because it's one less complication for us but part of me wants to tear Beckman's heart out for what she's done to us."

"You're human. You're the intersect. You're Chuck Bartowski. I understand your feelings and yes, I want some catch-up and make-up time for all we've lost. I don't begrudge you spending time with Carrie, Chuck. If nothing else, you two were friends as well as lovers. You still love your friend, Chuck, and cry for her. You're only human. And I love you for it."

They'd almost reached the elevators when Sarah remembered Chuck's prescription for his anti-malarial drugs and walked back to the in-house pharmacy in the dispensary to have it filled. Chuck went on down to the lobby to wait for her. He'd had his fill of the dispensary, the patients and the damned doctor who was reliving pawing his wife in bed every time he saw her.

* * *

**2:57pm**

REUTERS - AN EXPLOSION HAS BEEN REPORTED AT THE AMERICAN EMBASSY IN ROME, ITALY. DETAILS ARE SKETCHY BUT WITNESSES SAY A TRUCK APPARENTLY LOADED WITH EXPLOSIVES DROVE TO THE FRONT OF THE EMBASSY LOCATED ON A BUSY MAJOR THOROFARE AND EXPLODED. REPORTS SAY THE BUILDING SUFFERED HEAVY DAMAGE ESPECIALLY TO THE MAIN ENTRANCE AREA WITH THE ENTIRE FACE OF THE BUILDING DESTROYED. THERE WERE NO CASUALTY REPORTS IMMEDIATELY AVAILABLE.

**3:07PM**

REUTERS - [UPDATE 2:57PM] ITALIAN POLICE REPORT EXPLOSIONS AT THE AMERICAN, BRITISH AND FRENCH EMBASSIES. IN ALL INSTANCES IT IS BELIEVED TERRORIST DETONATED TRUCK OR CAR BOMBS OR SOME OTHER EXPLOSIVE DEVICES. THERE ARE REPORTS OF MASSIVE CASUALTIES AMONG EMBASSY STAFF AND ITALIAN CITIZENS ON THE STREETS. THE BRITISH EMBASSY IS IN FLAMES. THE AMERICAN EMBASSY HAS BEEN GUTTED BY THE MASSIVE EXPLOSION. THE FRENCH EMBASSY HAS BEEN ALMOST LEVELED BY AN EXPLOSION.

* * *

John Casey picked himself off the floor and immediately went to the Operations Center deep in the basement of the building. At least he tried to do so. The corridor leading to the basement stairway was blocked with rubble. Remembering a map of the building, he grabbed two strikers and headed to the armory passing armed US Marines who were scurrying to their respective duty posts. He grunted with approval. At least someone still had his wits about him.

Casey opened the armory door and nodded to the strikers. He grabbed a walkie and issued brisk commands and then went to find Chuck. He had been visiting Pole Dancer on the 4th floor – and hopefully he'd been far enough from the front of the building to avoid any of the effects of the blast.

Sarah Walker pulled herself up off the floor using an overturned table as an aid. The table had taken almost all the force of the blast and she'd crawled underneath it to wait out the falling pieces of steel beams, rebar and concrete chunks. The sprinkler system was engaged and everything was soaked. It probably was a good thing since it meant the dust would be minimized, reducing secondary pulmonary casualties.

She looked down the hallway to Agent Webb's room and stifled a gasp. The building ended just before her room. In other words, the room and its occupant were no longer part of the embassy. Her first thoughts shamed her. '_One less thing for Chuck to worry about. One less obstacle for us.'_

She turned to find the emergency stairwell. She stepped over a pair of legs that appeared to have been separated from their body. The doctor Chuck hated had once been attached to those legs.

* * *

Chuck Bartowski was unhurt, unless one considers temporary deafness and a bloody nose injuries. He had been lucky, blessed, fortunate, whatever appropriate adjective might apply. He had been on a tier of steps facing away from the blast and the heavy steel risers and balustrade shielded him from the blast but not the noise. He was covered in dust and now he knew what a powdered sugar doughnut felt like. At least he didn't have a hole in the middle.

He needed to find his wife, make sure she and Carrie were all right. The stairs ended below him and above him. Man, he was lucky. Looking up he saw the sky instead of the ceilings of the lobby and the subflooring of the offices above him. Truck bomb. A damned big one. Must have been from one of the cells the Italian police had missed.

Crawling down through the rubble to the ground floor he didn't notice the delicate hand with the engagement ring protruding from the rubble. Even if he had, the rubble had crushed the body and he wouldn't have been able to identify it except for his intimate knowledge of how the hand felt to be held and the ring itself. It would take DNA testing to confirm the identity of Agent Carrie Anne Webb weeks later.

Casey found himself following the orders of a 23 year old Marine 2nd Lieutenant and he willingly did as he was told. The L-T knew the Embassy and it's floor plan like the back of his hand and he also had the commo required to coordinate any operation, be it rescue or defense. Casey placed command of his team under the L-T immediately. If he felt uncomfortable with a bunch of weapon-wielding men in tactical gear he didn't give any clues. He just led. That was his job and he was doing it superbly. Casey made note of the man's name for future recruiting. A cool and level head when the world was ending around you was highly valued.

"Major Casey, doctrine calls for us to secure the 'open' areas of the embassy building and establish roving patrols over the remainder of the grounds. I've already sent out the rovers and I'd like your team to man the security points with the Marines already on post as I've marked on this map. You and I have to find the Ambassador and get her to safety. After that, I'll help you find you boss and the other members of your team who are unaccounted for. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Sarah carefully picked her way down the emergency stairwell stepping over chunks of concrete and hanging on to the banister to keep herself upright. The emergency lighting had come on but many of the units had been damaged in the explosion or by falling rubble. It was almost pitch black in the stairwell. She'd already passed two floors. The first door had been buckled and would not open. The second door was blocked by rubble and she was too tired and worried to spend time clearing it. She pressed on to the first floor dreading the condition of its door but having no choice.

Her cell vibrated in her jeans pocket. She couldn't see who was calling in the dimness and just answered the phone.

"Sarah Walker."

"Sarah! Where are you, sweetheart? Are you hurt? Sarah?"

"Chuck! I'm fine, baby. I'm in the stairwell almost to the ground floor door. The other doors are all blocked or warped. Chuck…Carrie's room is just gone, it's not there anymore, Chuck, she's gone. I'm so sorry."

"Sarah. Sit down. Calm down. She's dead or she's alive. Either way there's nothing either of us can do about it. I'm walking…well, climbing and falling to your location. Please meet me at the door, Sarah. I have to see you. Please."

"I need you too, Chuck. I'll be waiting."

A burden had been lifted and she felt tons lighter. She carefully made her way down the steps, being careful of shifting rubble. She didn't want to fall now.

Sarah reached the door but couldn't open it out into the lobby – probably, she thought, because the top 3 floors of the embassy are in the way. Taking her cell out, still not able to see a damned thing, she called Casey.

"Casey, unsecured and very busy right now. What do you want?"

"It's Sarah, Chuck's in the lobby and he's OK. Carrie's room and all the ones around her are just, just gone, John. I'm in the ground floor stairwell and the door to the lobby is probably blocked by rubble. Chuck's OK. He was in the lobby when the bomb went off but he's OK, just a little deafened by the blast. I guess I'll just sit down and wait for you guys to get me out. Please be careful. We've lost enough to this mission already. Chuck's going to need a lot of support if Carrie's dead, John."

"Yeah. Stay put and we'll get to you. Our mission is to rescue and support the ambassador and her family and then aid in security and rescue. Sit tight, partner, and we'll get to you. Talk to Chuck, Sarah, and keep him grounded and not wandering around looking for Pole Dancer. We still could have secondary attacks to take out first responders and I definitely don't want him haring off on a personal vendetta should any of the Somalis show their faces."

"I don't think he's armed, Casey. I'm not. We weren't planning on doing anything but a little shopping and sightseeing. Please send a team member to kind of stand around with him."

"Damn it, Walker, er, Bartowski, shit, Sarah, you know better than to walk around with him without a weapon. It's protocol. I'll send someone as soon as I can find someone I can spare."

She knew he was right. They'd gotten too damned relaxed and now it had hit the fan and they were unprepared. It didn't matter that the unit was in preparation for a stand-down, he was still the intersect host, 24/7/365, and needed security.

Chuck was sitting on a large piece of the ceiling talking with Beckman from a high pile of rubble where he could see and report. The General was also speaking with the intelligence chiefs of Israel, Italy and France.

Unfortunately, the head of MI6 had been in the embassy in preparation for a meeting with various NATO chiefs and was assumed to be dead or severely injured. The intel chiefs were on a conference line with Beckman but Chuck was on the cell in her ear relaying first-hand accounts of the damage to the American embassy and the surroundings.

"The entire face of the building is gone, General. Picture the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City and add civilian casualties in the streets and park across the way. Police and rescue units are here but this would be an excellent follow-on target. All the LEOs and rescue units taken out by ano…"

|BOOM|

A second bomb, this time in a police ambulance, exploded with devastating effect on the police and fire and rescue units assembling in the front of the embassy. Casualties were heavy.

"Agent Bartowski? Agent Bartowski?"

Beckman addressed the other intel chiefs and related what Chuck had told her and that another explosion had ended their conversation. The French director confirmed that the same thing had occurred almost simultaneously at his embassy.

Sarah heard and felt the second explosion. It blasted the metal door inward and tore it from its hinges.

Sarah had been knocked off her perch on the stairs by the shock wave. Shaking her head and tying her scarf around her face to cut through the dust, she speed dialed Casey but got no answer. It went to voice mail. She speed dialed Chuck and got a busy signal and was transferred to voicemail.

The air was so thick with dust that she could hardly breathe. She sat down and tried Chuck's cell again and then Casey's. She got voicemail. In frustration, she called General Beckman.

"Beckman, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. General, they hit the embassy with another bomb. I was trapped in the lobby stairwell and the second blast blew the door off so I'm going to find the asset and then join up with our team."

"General, the blast leveled the trees in the park across the boulevard from the embassy. There are overturned and burning vehicles throughout the park and the street fronting the embassy. From where I'm standing…I see destroyed and burning police and rescue vehicles. I - I don't see a single living person, General, just bodies."

"Agent, I was speaking with Agent-in-Charge Bartowski when the bomb exploded. He was cut off mid-sentence. Find him, Sarah, and get him to a secure place. Call me immediately when you locate him. Good luck, Sarah."

She called his name repeatedly, going from rubble pile to rubble pile. She found pieces of rescue equipment, pieces of…people, but no one alive. The lobby would have been fairly full of people with business to transact with the embassy and she could not find a single person, dead or alive.

Sarah called Casey again and again and he finally answered. "Casey, secure. Sarah, Chuck's down here. He's unconscious. One of the roving teams found him lying in the grass 15 feet from the building perimeter. Come around to the back of the building and I'll have someone bring you here. He's alive. He's got some tiny cuts and bruises, a black eye and a split lip but the medics think he was knocked cold by the blast. Just get down here and we'll go to a secure location."

"On my way." She hung up and started picking a path through the rubble to the garden and lawn area on the eastern perimeter of the building. She called the General when she got to the sidewalk beside the eastern wall of the embassy.

"Beckman, secure. Report, Agent."

"He's alive! He was blown into the garden and Casey says he's unconscious but the medics don't see anything other than superficial injuries. I'll report back when I know more. Casey has the ambassador and her family and is going to leave the city for a secure location and I'm accompanying them with the asset."

"Excellent. Good news. Call me when you have a definite status on his condition."

* * *

**San GiaccamoSecure Villa**

Sarah sat in the back seat of an embassy sedan holding her husband's head on her lap and talking quietly to him once he regained consciousness. He had a pretty good bump on the head but other than the superficial injuries, he'd survived not one but two terrorist bombings. Casey once told her that he was a cat with 9 lives. How many did he have left?

The secure villa was located in a small farming village and sat on a hill overlooking the valley and its farms. Casey helped her get him into one of the bedrooms and then handed her two 9mm pistols and two spare magazines. "Secure is one thing, safe is another. I'll see you later. Get cleaned up and we'll contact Beckman." He looked over at Chuck who was sitting on the edge of the big 4-poster bed looking a little lost. "Hey, Boss, pull it together. We have to cleaned up and talk to the General. Then you can crash but I need you at the briefing. You know more than we do."

Chuck just looked at him and waved wearily. Sarah ushered Casey out of the bedroom and then went and started filling the old claw-footed tub. She wished she'd just told Casey to take them to her apartment. She had spare weapons there and they would have been much more comfortable there.

"Sarah, I'm tired and I ache. Let's soak a while and then sleep for a week. Or two. Then let's slip off the grid and tell the world to just chill out for a bit because Chuck and Sarah are not going to be around to save it for a while. Please?"

"Oh, Chuck, if only we could. I think we deserve a vacation after all of this. A week, maybe two, someplace nice and warm and remote. Just the two of us doing nothing but reconnecting. That's the best we can do, sweetheart. Unfortunately, the world needs people like us. We proved that today. Imagine the destruction and loss of life if we hadn't identified and taken out those other teams. Let's try for a vacation. Any favorite spots?" She couldn't believe she gave him the corporate line about commitment. She needed to watch her mouth. They were both tired and angry at their situation and were deep in the minefield of personal relationship hell.

She helped him up and into the bathroom. Within 5 minutes they were in the huge tub, soaking away aches and pains and quietly talking. Well, she was talking. "So, any favorite spots for a vacation?"

"Bali, Maui, the Barrier Reef, The Caymans, any place warm and sunny and safe. Some place where the intersect won't intrude, where Sarah and Chuck can blend in and get lost for a while. We never had a honeymoon. I don't remember us really ever living together as man and wife. I want that. No more hiding who and what we are from anyone. I don't mean the intersect and the secret agent, I mean _us_, you and me, not our jobs, us."

"Chuck, once we wrap this up here in Rome, I was thinking about Majorca. Warm, sunny, cheap, easy to get lost among the crowds. A perfect place for a perfect honeymoon for the perfect couple."

"Sarah, absolutely. Majorca. Sounds exotic."

"Maybe never go back, just find someplace cheap to live and slip off the grid, under the radar, someplace in Flyover Country where we can just be normal." Her tone was wistful with an undercurrent of regret.

She felt him stiffen momentarily and then sigh. She turned around in the tub and looked at him, waiting for his response, knowing instinctively that it would be the one he thought she'd want to hear, the one she'd relate to and understand.

"I can't abandon my responsibility as easily as that, no matter how damned attractive it sounds. You've more than done your duty, Sarah, but I haven't even begun. The intersect host – it's what I am now. I can't escape it. It's more than a duty, it's a destiny; can you understand and accept that?"

"I knew you'd feel that way. I could see something in your eyes after you recovered from the Syndrome attack, the way you asked Beckman if she knew 'what' it was she was dealing with. You've made a commitment to being the intersect now, haven't you? A lifetime commitment."

"It doesn't change how I feel about you, about what I want for us in the future, about us being married. I just don't see a lot of fieldwork in our future unless that's what you want, Sarah. I see normal. As close to normal as intelligence agents can get."

Now it was her turn to give the wrong response. "Chuck, are you saying you don't want me to quit the Agency?"

"I was hoping we could have a life that didn't involve you risking your life, your soul, for the greater good. I was hoping you'd agree to being my partner and keeping my ass out of trouble, Sarah. I've been very lucky so far, babe, so very lucky. I know that and so do you. But even this cat only has so many lives and I've lost track of how many I've used up."

What he didn't say, what he couldn't say to this queen of the spy world was that he was almost constantly afraid. He was afraid of making a bad decision and hurting one of the team. He was afraid of hurting someone because of his inability to perform like a Bryce Larkin. And he was afraid he'd lose her to another spy if she didn't leave field ops. He remembered Larkin and Omaha and then there was the MI6 guy. He couldn't compete with them.

"I'm satisfied with being the information source, the asset, but I think my operational days are coming to an end. I've got too much to lose now. I think I'd like to take the Chief of Station position in Los Angeles. I've talked to Beckman and it's a done-deal if I want it. You'd be assigned to head up operations and be my protective detail."

"So I'd be giving up traveling all over the world, undercover assignments, basically I'd just be an administrator doubling as the handler to an intelligence asset. No more missions, no more operations, just watching your ass 24/7?" There was a chill in her voice he hadn't heard since Treasure Island.

"Basically, yes, but we'd be still functioning like we did at the Castle, just with more staff and more complex operations with multiple teams. We have identified new enemies during this operation and there's still Fulcrum to consider. When Carrie, Casey and I would go out on ops we had backup and support with us and we didn't have to wait for assistance if we needed it, it was with us all the time."

"And just how many of these 'ops' did the three of you go on in the year I was gone?" There was that damned chill in her voice again.

"Twenty or thirty I think. Definitely more than twenty." He wondered where this was going.

"And you stayed in the van or the truck every time?" Flat question without any inflection. Cold and distant, almost like Beckman.

"No. That wasn't how we ran things. At first, yes, but then before Pole Dancer showed up I ran a solo or two and Casey stayed in the van and then we ran some doubles but we really got cooking when the other handler showed up."

"Oh, I see. Casey let you go into harm's way alone and Beckman didn't fry your asses for that?" Again the cold tone.

"First time when I went into the club run by Fulcrum and Casey stayed behind, yeah, but not after that."

"I see. Well, I'm pruning up here. Let's get out and dressed and then take care of the briefing with General Beckman." She got out of the tub and wrapped herself in a towel and walked out into the bedroom. Chuck just sat in the tub wondering what had happened.

Finally figuring he needed to confront the issue head-on, he wrapped a towel around his waist and followed his wife into the bedroom.

"OK, Sarah, I've had my bell rung twice today but even I, stupid Chuck Bartowski, can tell there's something wrong here. We agreed to a fresh start, no more secrets. I've kept my part of the bargain, you've kept yours,

right up until you talked about getting lost in fly-over country. What's going on here, Sarah?"

"I lost you for a year, for a whole year, because I wanted out of the Agency, out of the spy life and now, when we can both step back, you, my dear husband, decide you want to stay and play some more. That's what's wrong." The instant she said 'play some more' she wished she could take it all back. This entire conversation was going to become a huge fight, the first they'd ever had about 'them'.

"You're right as usual, Agent Walker, we do need to take care of the briefing with General Beckman. That's today's priority." He turned from her and reached for his clothes, hating the thought of putting the filthy things on his clean body. It seemed wrong, just like this damned conversation seemed wrong. He didn't notice that his tone of voice had also hardened and now he sounded like the Ghost in the desert. Cold, detached but oh so aware and angry.

While Sarah was still getting dressed, Chuck left and sought out the meeting place and Casey. The ambassador was in attendance and Chuck shot Casey a dirty look but then schooled his features and went and introduced himself to the Ambassador. Fifteen minutes later, Sarah came in to the room that Casey had established as the 'command center' and took a seat next to her husband.

She leaned over and whispered, "I'm sorry for being such a bitch. It's been a bad day all around. Let's forget the last hour and start again after this meeting. I think we've uncovered some 'issues' we need to deal with immediately, OK?" He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off the screen with its NSA logo floating around. Beckman was a stickler for punctuality and she was late.

Beckman finally made a connection and actually apologized for the delay – until she spotted the ambassador sitting in with the group.

"Madam Ambassador, I'm sorry but this is a classified meeting. If you'll give us a few minutes to take care of that business I'll be happy to discuss any issues you might have."

The ambassador shot her a 'go to hell' look but left the room, not quite slamming to door on her way out.

Beckman looked at the group, noting the bruises and cuts on Bartowski and the pulsing anger he seemed to have barely under control. Well, he'd lost a team member and had been blown up twice so there was some good cause for his attitude.

"Agent Bartowski, how are you? You scared the crap out of several intelligence chiefs who were monitoring your transmission to me this morning. I'm sorry to hear about the loss of Agent Webb. I am sorry, Chuck. She was a delightful young lady, so full of life." She looked at Walker as if comparing her to the deceased agent.

"We're all fine here, General. No other losses to the team and I still bounce rather than break. I can't provide any details regarding the second blast effects. I believe Agent Walker might be able to discuss it from her first-hand observations."

The rest of the meeting progressed quickly. It was decided that the team would return to Los Angeles but Sarah interrupted with a request for annual leave of three weeks for her and Agent Bartowski. Since Beckman and Chuck had already discussed just such a thing, it was approved. Casey would bring the remaining team members back to Los Angeles.

"Colonel Casey, your resignation has been declined. Continue the mission. Also, when he comes back in from the cold, inform Mr. Larkin that he's been reassigned to L.A. to perform liaison duties between the NSA and CIA in the Citadel."

Casey looked over at Chuck and raised an eyebrow but Chuck wasn't paying attention. He was mulling over the 'argument' he and Sarah had been having, trying to make some sense out of her comments and responses.

"Agent Bartowski, as we discussed, the Citadel needs a station chief and since you're already the 'Boss', it's yours. Congratulations. Stop off on your way home to L.A. and get a physical and a refresher download of the new intersect. Let me know when to expect you. You all performed beyond expectations and are to be commended. Thank you."

The NSA logo floated across the screen. Chuck got up and stormed out of the room leaving Sarah and Casey wondering again what was going on in that complicated mind of his.

"Partner, is there something going on here that affects the team? He seems rather pissed about something. Can or will you shed some light on why my friend and your husband left here so abruptly?"

"I want out, John. I want a normal life and now I find out he still wants to play and has made a commitment without discussing it with me. He wants me to be his 'protective detail' 24/7 and that cuts me out of any operations he wants to run. I lost a year of being with my husband and he admits he's using up lives at a prodigious rate and yet he says he has to stay because of what he is and the commitment it entails."

"You're not too damned bright, Walker. And you're going to be a 'Walker' again if you don't straighten up and listen to what he means not always what he says. I'm a colonel because of his commitment instead of being a jailbird. You're back together because of his commitment. Bryce is going to L.A. because of his commitment. He sold his soul for us."

"He wants out worse than you can imagine and finding out you were banging Bryce, and then losing Pole Dancer because of Beckman's programming, well, expect a little disappointment and hostility. He knows it wasn't just a one-time affair, Sarah. He knew before Somalia. In fact he's known since you and Bryce shacked up the first time."

"Damn you, Casey. I couldn't remember being married. All I knew was that I had 2 years on my contract and then I was going back to him and never leave him again – the stupid plan after he was shot. I love him, Casey, and I'm so afraid I'll lose him again to the job or some mission. Can't you understand my position?"

"Yeah, Sarah, I understand, but it doesn't matter to me, it's what matters to him. Does he understand?"

"Thanks, Casey. I guess I have to think this through a lot more before I talk with him. I suck at relationships and all the talk that seems to make them work for others."

"Well, you could just say to him exactly what you said to me, that you're afraid you'll lose him to the job or on a mission. Try that for starters."

"I will. Thanks again, John." She was almost out of the room when she heard him say, "Sarah, if I don't see you again, keep the boss out of trouble. And keep a low, low profile until Beckman's either dead or in jail."

She didn't turn around. She didn't trust herself not to cry.

Chuck had stormed out of the briefing room and almost ran over the Ambassador who had been shamelessly trying to eavesdrop. Must have been one of Hillary's appointments.

"Well, Agent Bar…um, what is the NSA and CIA going to do about this outrage?" She drew herself up to her full five foot three inches and glared at him, her three chins trembling in self-righteous umbrage.

"Ma'am, we've already done all we could. The Italian authorities failed to close out all the cells. They got ten of the twelve but didn't get the others."

"And just what, pray tell, were you and your goons doing to stop this?"

Chuck saw red and turned on the little political leech and stared at her, all color disappearing from his face. He started to speak and then stopped because nothing he could think of would answer her question. Instead, he asked her if she'd ever been up to the 4th floor of her embassy, knowing full well she probably hadn't. She said as much.

"We were in Somalia, obtaining the information that enabled the Italians to do their jobs. My… someone very dear to me was horribly injured in the line of duty and I believe she lies somewhere under your embassy since we never had time to evacuate anyone, no warning, no advanced knowledge."

"Their plan was to use Sarin gas but we delayed them until it had degraded so badly it was useless so they went back to the 90s and came up with suicide truck bombs. That's where we were and that's what we were doing. Be glad someone was willing to do it because you damned politicians were too interested in appearing politically correct than in doing your diplomatic jobs."

Sarah walked out and caught the last few words. She turned quickly and motioned for Casey to join her.

"What I'm curious about, Ambassador, is why you're not at your duty post, coordinating rescue operations, seeing to the welfare of the people who do your work for you so you can reap the benefits of a fat political contribution?"

"Who the hell do you think you are? You're one of those spy people that we had to bend over backwards for. You were supposed to stop all this."

"Well, we did. We kept the death toll from being in the hundreds of thousands. I want to know why you're hiding here, 40 miles from Ground Zero?" She started to sputter some stupid excuse when he cut her off.

"Well, don't get too comfortable. I'm going to have you investigated for all those insider trades you and your husband conducted to create the 'donation' to the campaign that got you here. Play nice with Beckman. She has her hand on your personal 'off switch'. Now excuse me while I make plans to return to Rome. I have people there, just like you do."

Sarah looked at Casey, pride written all over her face. "See? That's the real reason he can't quit. How do I explain that to him when _I_ don't even understand it?"

She sprinted after her husband who was striding angrily along the pathway to the car park, muttering imprecations against politicians of all parties and persuasions.

"Chuck Bartowski, stop right there!" She continued running to catch up to him. He stopped and turned and frowned.

"I'm heading back to Rome. I have a team there and they have no leadership and no direction right now. Casey has to baby sit that useless political hack so I'm heading back in to the city. When you've had enough of the pastoral life, call me and I'll have someone pick you up if I can't make it."

"I'm going with you. You're my husband and I won't lose you to the job or some damned mission. You're right, you are running out of lives and I'll just have to make sure you hang on to this one." She stopped and waited for him to say or do something.

He ran the palm of his hand down her cheek. "I'll drop you off at your apartment then. And I'll be there when I can. In the meantime, decide what you want to do and we'll work out the details. I'm not thinking straight right now, too many bells ringing in my head. You drive."

**_A/N: One maybe two more chapters._**

**_Armor-Plated-Rat_**


	20. All Is As It Should Be Again

DeadBefore20

_A/N: This is all. Finito. I'm done._

* * *

Sarah drove the embassy SUV as far as she could until police barricades halted her. The embassy vehicle was no free pass nor was her CIA ID. She was directed to an alleyway where Italian police were checking ID's against a master embassy listing.

The tall policeman examined her embassy credentials and those of her husband noting the filthy clothing each wore and how it contrasted with the obvious cleanliness of their faces and hands. He was right to be suspicious. This had been a day of betrayal. Finally, seeing her husband's lacerated face and hands and listening to Sarah's impassioned pleas to be allowed back onto the embassy grounds they were released.

"Chuck, Chuck!" He slept so soundly in vehicles. It seemed a shame to wake him but he had things to do. She'd drop him off and then pick him up when he called.

"Awake. I'm awake. Quit yelling. Jeez, Sarah, I don't remember you being this loud. We're going to have to work out your volume issues. I'll get out here and call you when I need picked up. Meet me here, OK? And if you're too tired I can get Rivera or someone to bring me home." A quick kiss and he was gone. Was this what it would be like in L.A.? Remembering Casey's lecture about letting him wander about unescorted she snorted to herself and followed him around to the back of the embassy.

He flashed some magic ID at the Marine on guard, nodded to his NSA team member and walked into the embassy kitchen. "Yo, Rivera! What's for dinner?" He loved kidding the human glutton about food.

"Boss, you be nice or you won't be invited to dinner, comprende?"

"I take it the rest of the team is buddied up with Marines?"

"Yes, sir. Colonel Casey gave us to some LT and said 'do what he says' so we are mini-Marines for the duration."

He laughed and made his way down to the CIA section in the basement and commandeered a cell phone and called Beckman. He had no idea where his was. Probably out in the rubble somewhere. He'd have to remember to kill the service in case a civilian found it.

"Beckman, secure. What's the situation like there, Agent Bartowski?"

"Not certain. Just arrived from the 'country manor' the ambassador's hiding out in. You know, she and her husband were insider traders during the meltdown. You might want to look at them and see just how dirty they are. Never hurts to have an ambassador in your debt. I already told her you were going to investigate her trades and donations. Mess with her mind, General, and we'll have free rein in Italy."

"Consider it done. Not playing very nice with the politicians, I see. Good. We'll make them sweat. How are plans coming for the return? I see no good reason to delay, Chuck. Go on vacation. Casey will be relieved of babysitting and bring the team back on your FedEx bird. You know the Air Force has filed a complaint."

"Tough. They were detailed to support our mission and wouldn't. Screw them. My team can fly back commercial and let the Airedales handle the bird. I don't care anymore."

"When you get to DC for your physical and update, set aside a day for meetings and discussion on future operations. Station chiefs have more Admin than fieldwork. Has Sarah agreed to the job offer?"

"Working on it. She has no idea how we operate. Thinks I'm going to sit in an office all damn day and let others have the fun. Nope. She'd be wasted holding my hand while I just sat in an office. I lead from the front and I want her on my left back 2 steps. Worked in Somalia and it'll work in L.A. She's my AMEX card, General, and I don't leave home without her. So I'll see you in 3 weeks. Behave yourself, General. Remember the exhumation orders."

He hung up and turned to find his wife looking at him in the strangest way.

"AMEX card, Chuck?" She was trying not to smile and losing. This was a very devious and complex man she'd married. A dangerous one, too. He'd changed a lot in those 11 months and she planned on finding out just how much while lying on the beach in Majorca or in bed in their hotel suite.

"Well, yeah. You got a problem with that arrangement? Want to sit outside my office and intercept visitors all day or stand beside me on missions? Either way I win. Decide. Right now. No delays. I have staffing issues to consider. I'm management now. And I'm so excited I could just defecate in place."

"Yeah, I'll watch your ass for you, big boy. It's mine and don't you forget it."

"Not very likely. So, we're going on vacation as soon as I get the teams organized and scheduled. Casey will probably want to fly the FedEx bird home so I'll leave that in his hands. Delegation is the mark of a true manager."

She punched him lightly on the arm. "We're scheduled out on Alitalia tomorrow morning and by this time tomorrow, we'll be on the beach in Majorca, soaking up the sun and booze. A delayed honeymoon, Chuck, but worth the delay." She tried but failed to pull off the Bartowski eyebrow dance. It made no difference.

"Let's finish up here and then head home – I'll teach you the eyebrow dance and maybe something older…something we both can do?"

* * *

**Palma, Majorca  
2 days later**

It was sunny and hot. Perfect beach weather. But they had not left the small seaside villa Sarah had booked for them. They had not left the master bedroom. They had not left the bed – except for quick raids on the refrigerator and showers and long soaks in the hot tub on the covered balcony overlooking the harbor during the cool evenings.

"You know this can't last forever, husband. We're eventually going to have to leave this bed and foray out amongst the tourists. Maybe go dancing, stroll along the beach in the moonlight, something other than working our way through the Bartowski edition of the Kama Sutra. Although I really think we should go back to page 43 and try that one again. You were so…"

"Fine. I guess it was too good to be true. The honeymoon is over. The newness has worn off. Fine. Let's get dressed and go down to the harbor and eat and then…"

"Page 43 again, Chuck, then, if you're still capable, we'll get up and dress." She sighed. She could definitely get used to this lifestyle. Who needed clothes?

"Page 43 was where you're upside down on the headboard and I'm…"

"Idiot. That's page 41. No, page 43 is where you do all the work and I reap all the benefits."

"Putz. That was page 40. Let's just start over again and take notes, pictures, make diagrams…"

Whatever else was said was muffled when Sarah hit him with the pillow and then jumped on him and had her way with him just like page 28 or was it 29?

Enjoying the post-sex interlude, Sarah asked Chuck what Ellie had said when he'd called her. She hadn't wanted to bring her up but she felt she needed to know.

"Oh, crap. I never called her. We were all so busy with the mission and then the truck bombing…she probably thinks we're dead. I have to call her."

"Chuck, the 'we're dead' was you and Carrie. How are you going to explain 'us', Chuck? She's going to hate me, I know it and won't blame her but she's really going to lose it when you try to explain the Carrie deal without being able to go into detail."

"You're right. Any suggestions?"

"Casey's back in L.A. Get him to let her use his secure phone and call you."

The call to Casey was easy.

"Casey, secure." He thought he'd be talking to Sarah but was surprised to hear Chuck's voice but then realized his cell was probably MIA in the rubble of the embassy in Rome.

"Bartowski, secure. Hey, when you get half a minute, how about letting Ellie call us on the secure phone. I totally forgot about calling her. I think…"

"Chuck, I'll take the cell over to their apartment as soon as we're through. But, yeah, you definitely need to talk to her. I covered the very basic elements about Somalia, and yeah – before you ask – she 'knows' about Pole Dancer and Sarah. It took her a while to understand what had happened and, well, you definitely need to talk to her."

"And you'd better be prepared to listen to a long list of grievances, too. Starting with why you never told her you were married when you could still remember. She's really pissed about missing the wedding."

"John, have they…have they…found her yet?"

"Yeah, Chuck. It took a while to sort out and identify the bodies. She's gone and Beckman assured me it was 'quick' and probably painless. Small comfort for your loss but still, some comfort."

"Casey…John…I - I have to call you back." The first sob caught in his throat and he hurried into the bathroom and shut the door. Sarah knew immediately what was wrong and followed him in to the bathroom, took him by the hand and led him back to bed and held him.

"It's OK to cry for her, Chuck. You loved her. I'm not upset with you, go ahead and grieve. I'm here and if you need to talk or just want to hang on to something, it's OK. Don't keep it all bottled up, baby, let it go. I'm not mad, Chuck, honest."

She wrapped herself around him and let him cry for the lost lover and the woman she'd sent him as her unconscious 'replacement'. The irony was not lost to her.

* * *

He fell asleep and she watched his face as he segued between sleep, dreams and sleep again. It was the longest 2 hours of her life.

Ellie's phone call was a welcome interruption for Sarah. She'd held her husband as he cried for another woman he'd loved and then slipped into a restless sleep. So much had happened in the last year. Some of it was bad, very bad but some, such as her 'reawakening' in Bosala, was bittersweet. She'd found him in the desert then realized she'd lost him to his Pole Dancer, then almost lost him forever to the Judas Syndrome and finally found him again, her husband, when he'd released the memory blocks.

He'd changed, aged, matured, become a different man but at his core, he was still her beloved "Chuck" who could make her laugh with a word and make her heart soar with a smile and aggravate the crap out of her with his stubbornness.

So when her musings were interrupted by Ellie's call, she was almost grateful.

"Bartowski, secure." She thought it was Casey.

"Sarah? This – um – this is Ellie Bar…I mean Woodcomb, Sarah, is Chuck there? Can I speak with him, please?"

"Yeah, wait one. I'll wake him. He's – well – the news about finding Carrie's body shook him up and he sorta fell apart for a bit and I finally got him to sleep. Just a…"

"No! If he's sleeping, let him. It's probably for the best considering everything that's happened in the past 2 weeks. My God, you two were married and he never told a soul, Sarah, not even me. I'm really pissed that I missed the wedding but I'm so glad I got my BFF and sis back. I can't imagine how hard it's been for the both of you…"

"Oh, Ellie…" and Sarah Walker Bartowski, Queen of Spies and Assassin Extraordinaire broke down and bawled like a baby, the events of the past year coupled with Ellie's forgiveness proved to be too much for her.

Sarah's sobs woke Chuck and he saw the cell phone in her hand and leaped to the wrong conclusion. He grabbed the phone but didn't speak when he heard his sister.

"Sarah, oh, please, don't cry. I'll be here with Major Casey for a while longer. Please call me back or have Chuck call. I'm sorry I said something to upset you." She knew she wouldn't get much out of the crying Sarah.

"Ellie, it's me. She's…what did you say to her, Ellie? I've never seen her this upset, not even with me in Somalia. What did you say?" He was trying not to sound angry but it was evident to Ellie that he was.

"I just told her how wonderful it was to have my best friend and sister back and not to wake you, Chuck. I'm so sorry I wasn't more supportive of you and Sarah but little brother, you never gave me the slightest hint that you guys were more than a dating couple. And then you brought Carrie by and…oh, Chuck, it must have been so hard for you…"

"Yeah. It was and it still is. Thanks for being so forgiving of Sarah. She was terrified you'd hate her for the past year. She didn't remember, Ellie, and neither did I and they programmed Carrie and I and they made Sarah pick her replacement when she left me."

"Chuck, what kind of heartless people do you work for? Didn't Casey know something? Did he break trust and tell someone about you?"

"Casey didn't know, didn't have a clue. No. I think it was Sarah herself when she changed beneficiaries on her property, her will and her life insurance. No one suspected the tendrils of the NSA would go that deep or worry about stuff that…innocuous, but they do, apparently."

"And now what? Are you back together? Are you coming home, Chuck?"

He could hear the longing in her voice.

"She's my wife, Ellie, and I love her very much and yes, we're coming home, but to L.A., not Burbank. I have a new job in…management and Sarah's going to work with me, be with me. I never want to be apart from her, Ellie. We've been through too much, done too much, all to get back together."

They talked for a few more minutes and then hung up. Talking to her was nice, but not telling her things made the conversation…stilted and strained. He'd have to figure out someway of letting her in.

Sarah was in the bathroom so he dressed and went in to check on her. He knew she'd never want him to see her just lose it. She had too much 'professional pride' for that. But she was his wife and needed to know he was there for her.

He knocked on the door and heard her mumble 'Go away, Chuck. I don't want you to see me like this." That was all it took. He opened the door and walked in and pulled her off the bench seat and hugged her to him.

"You're my wife and I'll damned well see you anytime I want, Mrs. Bartowski. Now, wash your face, sweetheart, and let's go out to dinner. We both need to get out and walk around in the sun and fresh air."

* * *

They walked through the town, enjoying the ambiance of a place centuries old and yet modern, an interesting contradiction. Sarah bought a ring for Ellie, a ridiculous hat to protect her Nordic skin from crisping when they finally did leave the bedroom for the beach, and a t-shirt for Devon with the word 'Awesome' in many languages covering the front and back.

Sarah's stomach was growling and so they asked about a good place to eat and were directed to a small pension, the Majorcan equivalent of a bed and breakfast that included a small restaurant that served Sarah's favorite seafood paella.

The sun was setting when the couple finally walked up the hill to their villa.

"Chuck, we're going to have to find a way to clue Ellie in on all of this. Maybe offer her a position on the approved physicians listing as an opening for her classification check. Use you newfound power over Beckman to help us for a change. It would make being her 'BFF' a lot easier on me and you could be open with someone not 'in the business'. Give it some thought, sweetie."

"I have. Didn't think of the physicians' listing. Good idea. Now, what page were we on…"

"I forgot, my love." She sighed in resignation. "I guess we'll have to start all over with page one." She giggled and all the worry lines and stress seemed to fade away, leaving a younger Sarah than he'd ever seen before. He planned on making her laugh as much as possible in the years to come.


End file.
